Baby, What If?
by NightMary
Summary: A League Of Their Own - As Dottie chases her younger sister along her own journey of self-realization, she comes to understand that the journey had been hers all along- with the greatest discovery coming out of immense heartbreak.
1. The Retired Athlete Revised

**Prologue: The Retired Athelete (Revised)**

**Warnings:** Language, Violence, Content That (MAY) Not Be Suitable For Younger Readers, Mention & Use Of Alcohol, And Sexual Suitations.

_(A sister story to "What Is It, Baby?")_

* * *

_**1995, A suburb, somewhere in western Indiana…**_

A woman with dark hair and slightly tanned features sits at her small kitchen table. Envelopes lay open, half open, or torn open around her on the table. She props up her chin on the table. She is looking out her small window, overlooking her two boys as they play basketball.

As she looks out the window, a problem she's been worrying about all morning and night turns and turns in her head. The source of her worrying, her mother, happens to live next door. As she thinks of her mother, Corrine can't help all of the memories that come back to her, hitting her like a hard wave of water.

All her life, Corrine was considered a short woman in comparison to the "long-legged belle" that everyone always said her mom was at her age. Looking at pictures of her mom from many, many years ago, Corrine had to grudgingly agree.

The woman definitely had the looks as a younger woman. She had long legs that seemed to go on all the way to her shoulders, soft, always puffy-looking lips, a womanly facial shape, deep, dark eyes, beautiful, rust-colored hair, and despite many years working in toil or under the hot sun, her skin remained a pale milk white. Except, of course, when it had been baseball season.

In the summer, her skin would turn a burnt red, rivaling in color with her red hair. As soon as baseball season always ended, however (or, at least, as Corrine was able to get out of her father) Dorothy, better known as Dottie, would go back to having skin the color of milk. Corrine secretly envied her mother for how beautiful she had always been- even in now, in her old age.

These days weren't the days to feel that way about which looks she had been fortunate enough to inherit from her mother, however. Not just because she was married to the man who loved her, or because of her two darling sons, but because today was Corrine's only chance to get both her mom and dad out of the damn house for once. And to get them- or force them if it would have to come to that- to go to Harvey Field for the last time after nearly thirty to fourty years of not hearing or seeing anything of her mother's old teammates. She had done nearly everything in trying to get her mother to agree to go of her own accord- dropping hints of the new display at Harvey Field, laying baseball cards on the kitchen table for both of the two antiques that were her parents to see, leaving old photo albums from those days around the house. Nothing worked so far, and today was the last day to get ready to leave if they were going to go. And this time, Corrine wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Dad had gone out to the post office to pick something up, so her mother was alone. Without dad to help her mother in trying to get out of going somewhere she had already said that she didn't want to go, she would be easier to force into going to Illinois. And dad would just have to go with them.

Or, at least, that was how the plan was supposed to go.

She walked out the backdoor of her house, and found her two boys shooting hoops in the small paved spaced that doubled as the parking area that lead up to their garages and as the basketball court that the two boys spent most of their time in. The two boys shouted and ran around each other, one with the ball, and the other trying to grab it from the other. Corrine walked past the two in the direction of the adjacent house across the small paved area in the shared backyards.

"Hi, guys." she said, not turning to look at them.

"Hi, mom!" the two boys yelled, going back to their game.

The backyard both her family and her parents shared was filled with both generations' tastes. Her parent's side of the yard was covered in a multitude of plant life in the bright colored variety, the grass was thick and green, and a neatly finished fence encompassed the area that was smaller in comparison to her own family's.

Corrine's own was bigger, unfenced, and was covered in various toys of the nerf variety laid on the patchy lawn. It, however, was kept neatly trimmed by James, her husband, who sometimes spent time picking the toys up to mow, only to find the toys back in almost the exact same place the next day. Besides the unsightly patches and toys, a few pieces of petrified dog doodie was scattered across the yard, thanks to Champ, the family mutt. That small dog was somehow capable of squirting out brown that Corrine was more than certain of being as big as he was. Corrine's father had threatened multiple times to kill the same dog if he ever took a crap in his yard, so her sons David and Ben had to teach Champ which side of the backyard to stay out of pretty quickly.

Corrine walked across the imaginary, yet obviously visible line that separated the two property lines. One side's grass was shorter, with the yellow handle of a water gun shaped like a rifle poking out into the other's. The other side's grass was shaggier, but healthier looking than the other side's.

She crossed into the longer grass. Where could her mom be at ten in the morning? Well, besides up, that is. Walking further into her parents' yard, she quickly saw the tall shape bent over a bed of yellow flowers, spraying water on them from a garden hose.

"Mom?" Mom didn't seem to notice- she looked as though she was focused on the plants she was content to water. "Mom!" Corrine yelled loudly. Mom made a tutting noise, but didn't look up from spraying a long stream of water at some flowers in the back of the flower bed.

"Don't you know it's bad for a plant- especially flowers- to hear yelling? I heard you the first time; just come closer." Yeah, mom sure hadn't changed in the many years Corrine had been alive. Just as difficult as ever.

Corrine walked over to her side."Mom, I need to talk to you…"

Mom looked up. "What is it? Couldn't you have called or come in the afternoon?"

Corrine sighed. "No. I need to talk to you, Mom."--

"Are you serious?" Mom said, hurrying up the stairs. She was now inside of her house and making her way away from Corrine as fast as she could. Despite the huge age difference between the two, Mom managed to move a bit faster than Corrine. In Corrine's defense, she had never been anything more than a broker/ housewife, where as her mother had been a star baseball player up until she began to get arthritis in her knees. She, however, couldn't run from Corrine forever; and forever happened to be in the dead end that was her bedroom. Mom was, however, still unwilling.

""Go to Harvey Field", are you crazy?!" As soon as she said it, she looked all around the room- anywhere except at Corrine. After a moment, she moved to the long dresser that lay on the opposite side of the room from the double bed she and her husband shared, and began to touch everything that she could on it. She looked absolutely at ease- or, at least, to anyone who didn't know her as well as her daughter did would think so.

Corrine knew that when her Mom never wanted to face anybody when she felt uneasy with talking. She would use anything aroun dher to divert her attention. Her fingers seemed unable to stop tocuhing everything on her dresser.

"Come on, Mom." Corrine said as gently as she could, reaching over to her Mom to grasp onto her shoulders, turning her towards her. "You need to get out the house- Dad says you haven't even left to go shopping with him in a _month. _Why don't you want to go?"

Mom, forced to face Corrine, began to stutter nervously. "N-now, what kind of question is that?!" She turned away from Corrine to go back to moving her knick-knacks and picture frames around. After a long while she let out a long huff of breath and began to speak again. "I swear, you did not get that personality from me- that must have come from your father."

Corrine laughed a fake laugh, trying with all of her might to put her mom at ease. A long silence stretched between them before it was broken by Mom. "Look, even if I wanted to, I can't go right now. I've got so much to do, and I'm finally getting caught up on all of it…"

She stopped, seeing Corrine's look of skepticism. "Really, Mom? What do you have to do that is more important than this one-time chance to at least get to see the new exhibit at Harvey Field- or, or at least to reconnect with all of your old friends… and Aunt Kit?" Mom turned away from Corrine then to look at an old black-and-white picture that sat in the middle of the large dresser. It was the picture that Corrine recognized immediatally as the one that her mom had saved over from her and dad's wedding.

Mom was standing to the left, her hair bound up in a bun and with her wedding veil brushing the sides of her face. A big, wide smile was aimed at the camera through dark lips that were probably rose red with lipstick that day. She wore a long, traditional wedding dress, and with one hand she was still holding onto a bouquet of what Corrine knew from her mother to be red roses, daffodils, and daises. And odd combination, but her mom and dad both decided on the odd arrangement in their usual level of understanding that they both always had. And still did.

Dad was standing next to her, his arm wrapped around mom's shoulders to pull her in as he turned his face away from the camera to kiss her cheek. The eye that was visible in the photo was closed, and it somehow made the photo endearing- even decades later. He also wore more traditional wedding attire of the decade- a dark brown tuxedo. Looking at it now, and knowing just how untraditional her father is, Corrine still found it hard to believe that he would have agreed to the tuxedo.

All of a sudden, a thought occurred to Corrine as she looked at her mom. "Is it your old teammates?" no answer. "Is it Aunt Kit?"

Mom sighed. "It doesn't matter, and don't think-."

Corrine interrupted her. "Dad would want to go, you know."

Mom shook her head. "No, I talked to him yesterday, and we both agreed that we weren't going. We both know we have better things to do than to reminisce over the old days."

When she tried to look away again, Corrine grabbed onto her arm. "What Mom? What is it going to take before you see that you _have _to go? What can you do that is more important than going back there, just one last time?"

"I-I have to catch up with the bills; I don't have the time. And, if we'd be going, who'd watch the boys?" she looked panicked finally, with nothing to busy her hands with and with Corrine looking right at her.

"You finished those bills yesterday, and James is staying behind so you, dad, and me can go."

Silence. Then Mom walked over to her and dad's double bed as if in a daze. She sat down. "Look, it's just a hassle that I don't want to-."

Mom and Corrine both stopped whatever it was they were doing as they heard the sound of the garage door opening. Corrine raced to the bedroom's modest window, and sighed. "It's Dad. I'm going to go talk to him- maybe he'll listen to reason." Corrine walked to the door, but turned around to look at her mom who sat on her bed. As she did, for perhaps the first time, she realized just how frail her mother looked.

Dottie had always been a force to be reckoned with; but at that moment, she only looked like a befuddled old woman. Corrine suddenly had no problem with envisioning this room as a room in a retirement home, and she realized that the way her mom looked then would make any visitor walking past her room believe that she was just another old biddy suffering from dementia.

"You think about what it is that you really want to do, and I'll be back after I finish talking to dad."

Mom didn't answer her back.--

Dottie listened as Corrine's footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Oh god, she didn't want to go.

She kept looking at the many photographs on top of the dresser for no reason than out of a lack of anything else to do. Some where in color, some were in black and white, and even one or two were in crayon. The color ones may have been the most recent and in detail, but it was always the ones that were in black and white that held the most fascination for her.

As her eyes wandered restlessly over those photographs, her eyes caught on a black and white one with a worn wooden frame. It sat nestled in the far left corner of the dresser, and sat behind at least three other photographs that were in color. But, oh, even from where she sat, Dottie could recognize it. The vague shapes of four people's heads looked over the top of a slightly smaller picture in front of it. She knew what it was before she stood up and walked over to it.

The bottom of the picture had a caption that read "Rockford Peaches!" and it featured women clothed in uniforms that were completed with a skirt that reached to their knees posing in the same way that was used for athletic pictures. All of the women were smiling in it.

She found herself at a sudden loss with what the year had been when the picture was taken- until her eyes found a familiar smiling face. Dark hair, that little pixie smile, and a stance that seemed to say, "Look out world, 'cuz I'm here!"

It was Kit.

As she realized whose face it was, she felt her heart lower into her chest. Or maybe her intestines.

Her being on that picture meant just one thing that mattered to Dottie at that point; this picture was taken during the first year of the league's existence. 1943.

After she realized this, she moved onto trying to recognize the other faces in the picture. A sense of deeply felt sisterhood, and a snippet of egotism were things that were immediately sensed by an onlooker. Each of those faces radiated just a small part of the entire experience that looked oh so familiar to Dottie.

But their names failed her.

After a long moment, however, she soon found herself remembering names she hadn't thought of for months, years, and even decades. And slowly she remembered many things that happened back then; both the extraordinarily bad and the surprisingly wonderful.--


	2. The Oregon Dairy Sisters Revised

**Chapter 2-The Oregon Dairy Sisters (Revised)**

**Author's Note:** I am deeply sorry for the long wait; and yes, here is where the movie begins to get played out, so you'll begin to recognize more from the movie.

-- _Mad Red Queen_

* * *

"Hey babe, how are you?"

It was softly spoken, whispered in her ear, sending fine strands of her red hair to rub in a gentle, yet maddening friction against her ear. Dottie turned over, a smile already forming on her lips. Her eyes were closed, but she could see Bob's sweet smile in the darkness behind her eyes.

"I'm good. I love you."

She was still mostly asleep, so that could have been why Bob's voice sounded so hazy. "I love you, too." he whispered back. A long moment passed before a loud voice rose Dottie fully out of her sleep.

"Dottie, get up! You've got chores ya gotta do!" it was a woman's voice, muffled by distance and a closed door, yelling. Dottie's eyes flew open. The first thing she realized was that no one was lying next to her. Bob was still in Germany, somewhere… and she was still a wife awaiting for her husband's return. She sighed, dark emotions creeping through her.

Not only was she awaiting his return, she was back on the farm while he was gone. Working slave labor for her parents, just as she and her sister Kit had always done ever since they were children. After about half a year of this life, Dottie was now in the belief that the dairy farm was the third floor of hell- and it wasn't even the chores that made her want to tear her own hair out. It was the _waiting. _

The waiting for either good news or bad. Waiting for each and every letter, praying to god and nearly crying with exhausted relief whenever a letter came in Bob's own somehow elegant yet jagged lettering.

She looked over at the empty spot on the other side of the bed, mentally calling up the image of their own bed in their house across town that was boarded up until Bob either came back or Dottie could find a job away from her parent's farm. It felt harder and harder to find one- and Dottie had the suspicion that her parents, with their influence on the small farming community, had gotten the message across that they didn't want their eldest daughter working while her husband was oversees. As Dottie knew to be true as well, they probably felt as though as feeble as dad was getting- and as impossibly mindless as Kit could sometimes be when left to work the farm herself- that Dottie would be better served to be getting a free room in their old farmhouse and helping her family out. She didn't have time to think on Bob's absence and her over-bearing family, however, because the loud sound of feet running up stairs caused her to sit bolt upright in bed, preparing herself for what the owner of the feet had in store for her.

"Dooooooottttttiiieeeeeee!" a young woman's voice yelled. Dottie quickly recognized it as her kid sister, Kit's, voice.

"What is it?!" Dottie yelled back.

"Momma just got done making breakfast!" Kit yelled. "Come on and get down here! You know how she is about not lettin' anyone eat unless everyone's at the table! Even Daddy's up now!" Kit made a loud groan from the stairs after she stopped talking. Dottie knew that Kit was probably waiting at the top of the stairs.

Groaning, Dottie flung her feet out of the bed and looked over at the clock on the side of the bed. It read 6:30 A.M. It was odd, since they usually woke her up around 5:00 or 5:30 to do chores. But still…

She stifled a loud yawn and began rubbing the hair on the top of her head as she wondered about whether or not she had bothered to write to Bob last night. A quick glance to the letter table in the corner proved that she had remembered to with a peek of a slightly off-white envelope on the desk. She smiled weakly before forcing herself to her shaky, not-all-yet-awake legs and walking over to the crumpled work clothes on the floor. A few minutes later and she stepped out of her room, wearing her work clothes, boots, and carrying her lucky baseball cap. As Dottie believed, Kit was standing on the top of the stairs, smiling at her. Unlike Dottie, she was already wearing her baseball cap, even though they weren't outside yet.

"Come on, come on." she said, whining but still smiling. "I'm _huuunnnngggggrrrryyyyyy."_--

They both stepped out of the old, whitewashed farm house a little after 7:00- and Dottie learned why she was allowed to sleep in that morning. The reason came skipping out behind her before flinging herself onto Dottie's back.

"Oh Dottie, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!" she cried, hugging Dottie's back fiercely. Dottie rolled her eyes for a minute, and couldn't help thinking, _Wow, who would have ever thought that I'd have an actual monkey on my back- especially at 7 in the morning? _A look at the ecstatic girl hanging by her shoulders also made Dottie wonder what kind of a day this was going to shape up to be. Especially since she had been weaseled into going with Kit to the ballpark that afternoon.

"Come on now, get off me." Dottie said, not unkindly. She shook her shoulders impatiently until Kit finally latched off. As soon as those arms were off her, Dottie began walking in the direction of the barn. "And what was the idea of doin' those chores and not waking me up?"

Kit walked next to her, head held up high, smile shining like a lantern's gleam in the dim light of early morning. "I wanted you to be in an awful good mood so you'd agree to go to the park with me."

Dottie let out a fake laugh. "You should learn to use that stuff as bargaining tokens. What if I had turned you down- what then?"

Kit was silent for a long moment, then, "Well, you wouldn't turn your darling, beautiful, talented little sis down, now, wouldja?"

"I have before, and I'll likely do it again." Dottie said, reaching the barn door and flinging it open. "Now come on- we've got four hours 'till when they said we could get out of here. Since you decided to do some of MY work, we'll likely be working a bit longer today, so make your time count." Kit made a face in Dottie's direction that seemed to say that she didn't appreciate what Dottie had said, but walked over to pat Ruth, her favorite dairy cow, on her huge pink nose. Back when Kit had originally explained why she named the cow Ruth when it was just a calf, she had said that Ruth was short for Babe Ruth. Dottie had countered that Babe Ruth was a MAN'S name, and not a woman's name, and claimed that the cow would find it offensive to be named after a man. Kit gave her counter point in the form of sticking her tongue out and blowing a raspberry at Dottie until Dottie rolled her eyes and called her an immature kid over her shoulder.

They both eventually made their way to the small area marked out from the rest of the pens, and began pulling dried bales of hay from the loft. They both dropped off bales to each cow in the small barn until all of the cows were contentedly munching their bales and the sisters were squabbling over who did their sides of the aisle of cows faster.

The rest of their jobs for the morning consisted of caring for the chickens and pigs- and most of the chores invariably ended in mock arguments over who did this or that faster or was the favorite sister of the animals. After Dottie came out of the chicken coop with the eggs she had plucked form the bird's nests, Kit grinned widely and literally ripped the basket from Dottie's hands to race inside the farmhouse. Dottie could only watch her run into the house and slam the door behind her with sarcastically arched eyebrows. "She sure is enthusiastic 'bout work today." Dottie said under her breath.

In what had to be record time, Dottie heard the door be thrown open, and a pixie-like face leaned out of the doorway. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Kit said impatiently. "Daddy said we can go now, so c'mon!" Dottie walked up to the front of the house, stifling a chuckle.

"You asked Daddy AND put away those eggs?"

Kit nodded in a quick, bobbing movement that made Dottie immediately think of a woodpecker. Dottie rolled her eyes and walked past Kit as she held the door open for her, then ran up the stairs before Dottie could come more than a few steps from the door.

"C'moooonnnnn!" Kit whined from the floor above her. Before Dottie began to run up the stairs after her, she glanced into the living room nearby. Their mother was sitting in the room reading _Life_ magazine and listening to a radio programme that seemed to only exist to bore the hell out of anybody in Dottie and Kit's age group. Dottie and Kit's father was also in the room, looking much more intrigued with the insides of his eyelids more than the radio. Mrs. Keller looked up from her article to give her eldest daughter a look of complete displeasure. It was her way- perhaps her _only_way- to get her daughters to act properly.

"Now, don't either of you try to cause any trouble for this family today, ya hear me?" She said in a tone of voice that sounded more annoyed than serious.

"We know, momma."

"No, I mean it," Mrs. Keller said, sitting up further in her old floral-patterned chair and setting her issue of _Life_ down on her lap with her hand on the spine to keep it in place on her upper thigh. "You're too old to still be raisin' hell and causin' trouble- you're _married_. You have to learn that you can't run wild all the time- I mean, just what do you want to tell _your _little boys and girls when they see you actin' like a teenage boy? "See this? This is how you properly chase a chicken."?"

Dottie didn't really know what to say to that- which was more the better, since when her mother was in rare form like she was then, she was more in the mood to be allowed to talk uninterrupted. Dottie just lowered her head to the ground in a way that she was used to doing from when she was a child. "I know, Momma. I know, and I promise I won't let me or Kit get into trouble." Even though she should have felt ashamed, she instead found it hard to stop herself from smiling or chuckling. She had her hands knotted behind her back, and her stance made her look humble and lady-like despite her work overalls. Her mother seemed to approve of her behavior, but as was her way, she continued talking.

"And you need to set a good example for Kit from now on. You've just been showin' her how _not _to act instead of how to act, Dorothy. What is she going to do when some good, wholesome boy comes here, lookin' for a lady, and instead finds a woman actin' like a boy, racing her married older sister around a barn?" Dottie nodded her head in almost the same woodpecker-like action that Kit had before, and was sure to keep her eyes to the floor.

"I know, Momma." She murmured.

"I mean it, so promise me, Mrs. Dorothy Robert Hinson." she said, her pronunciation of Dottie's name with a twinge of bite in it, knowing how much Dottie _hated_ when people used her first name, then her husband's name last in a way which was supposed to be cute. To Dottie, it wasn't. In fact, she found it insulting to have her name mixed with his, as if to say that the most important thing about her was her marriage to Bob. Dottie never lifted her head from the ground, but she nodded.

"Yes, Momma, I promise."

This seemed to please her mother, and she nodded slowly. "Alright. Now, go get dressed and go have fun; but, just remember what I said." Dottie nodded and un-entwined the index and middle fingers on both of her hands behind her back, which had been crossed when she had been looking down piously at the ground. She ran up to her room.

After getting dressed into their baseball uniforms and looking for their mitts, both Dottie and Kit strode out of the house, both carrying their own well-worn mitt. Kit held hers close to her as though it were her newly born, precious child, while Dottie held hers loosely, dangling it from her fingertips as they walked up the winding dirt path that would soon disappear into thick green grass.

"I'm glad to be away from the farm!" Kit proclaimed. Dottie grunted and shrugged her shoulders, staring down at the dirt pathway and pulling at her uniform, mentally cussing the way it kept sticking to her skin in the heat. The uniforms had her family's name written on the back of it, since her family's farm was the sponsor of their team. She gave up on tugging at the uniform to focus on the ground, wondering if she was stepping on any innocent bugs as she walked. But, then again, _were _there any innocent bug? Weren't they all vermin like mosquitoes or black flies?

Well, she mused, there _are _ants, but they're nuisances, too. But-

"How about you?" Kit said, interrupting her thoughts. Dottie blinked.

"Hmmmm?"

Kit looked over at her, annoyed. "Didn't you hear what I said before, about how I'm glad to be away-"

It was Dottie's turn to interrupt her. "Away from the farm. Yeah, I heard ya the first time. So?"

Kit shook her head in disbelief before speaking again. "Aren't ya glad to just be away from the farm after being stuck in the barn every day since Bob-" this time Kit stopped herself, clearing her throat loudly, embarrassed. "Uh, since you've been back here?"

Dottie shrugged. "It really doesn't bother me none." _Liar, liar, pants on fire, _Dottie's inner child sang out to her, pig-tailed, sticking her tongue out mockingly at her, and mischief glowing in her wild brown eyes. If Dottie herself didn't seem to believe her own statement, Kit seemed even more disbelieving than her. She spun to face her, no longer walking.

"You know what really gets me?" And, Dottie somehow guessed that she knew what Kit was going to say, but she wasn't going to like it.

"What?"

"You. Actin' like you don't care when the facts are that you _do _care, you just don't want to show it."

Dottie snorted. "No, I really don't care about this; you're crazy if you think any of this," she pointed to her mitt. "Means anything to me. I'm supposed to be a housewife, and..." she pasued. "I'm happy at home."

Kit laughed."Yeah, right! You're so miserable you can't even hide it!"

Dottie looked at her, mouth open, feigning offended. "What is _that _supposed to mean?!"

Kit laughed and began jogging ahead of Dottie.

"Hey! Answer me! What's that supposed to mean!" Dottie shouted, chasing after Kit into the familiar grassy path.--

The baseball diamond wasn't much; but to the people who were there while members of their family and friends were on the war front, it was a blessed oasis in the long journey through their worries and fears, which laid an ocean away, but always seemed uncomfortably, almost insanely, close at times.

The players who sat in dug-outs in opposite sides of the diamond, scheming up game plans, dumping cooled water on their faces, which streamed sweat, and cussing like sailors were certainly fierce players, and forces in their own individual rights to be reckoned with. But they certainly were no men. All of the players (with the exception of one team's coaches) were women.

The team of most interest was definitely the team sponsored solely by the Keller Dairy Farm- whose two star players also happened to be the daughters of the owners of the farm. They were, in fact, both so good that it didn't matter to anyone who watched them play ball that they just happened to be the lovely daughters of the Kellers. It was, after all, kind of hard to get all caught up in details when someone watched the tall, red-haired belle that was Dottie Hinson whack a baseball clear over the hastily constructed walls of the diamond. Dottie, however, was most content on the field as an umpire, since she was a natural born leader and was capable of thinking up winning ideas under pressure and short time. Plus, flash and showmanship wasn't her deal; her sister had enough fire in her for both of them, as she had always figured.

Dottie was in her favorite position on the field then, pulling her lucky catcher's mask and padded mitt on. As she worked her thin fingers into the catacombs of the mitt, she glanced over at Kit. her sister had put the wooden bat that worked well for her back on the rack, and she was picking up bats on the rack, swinging them with all of the might in her small, young body.

Dottie sighed._ Not again._

After her fingers were as snug as she could get them to be in the mitt, she walked over to Kit, who was mid-swing with a bat that looked much bigger than her.

"Kit, what are you doing now?"

Kit looked like she was bent on ignoring Dottie as she put that caveman-club sized bat back to pick out a much smaller one. She swung it in a high, grandiose arc as though she was not holding a bat, but was instead swinging a huge monster of a battle axe. "I'm trying to find a better bat- I think my game's been off, so I'm just-"

Kit didn't get a chance to finish as Dottie interrupted her.

"_Again, _Kit? I've stood by you at least three times in the last few games while you were switching bats. Again and again, you just end up keepin' that same bat every time."

Kit had turned to face Dottie, the bat she had been swinging resting on her shoulder. "B-but-"

"Come on and get your bat. The game's gonna start." Dottie said, turning away and punching her padded mitt as she stepped up to her place behind home base.

"And lay off the high ones!" She shouted over her shoulder.

"I like the high ones." Kit answered grumpily.

"Mule!" Dottie shouted at her, bringing her mask down to cover her face.

"Nag!" Kit shouted back, smiling.--

"Why can't you be more like your sister, Kiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttt?" Kit said with mock male southern roughness in her voice. They were walking back home. "How 'bout you get that purty older sister of yours to give ya lessons? Hyuck, yuck, yuck!" She ended it with an agitated growl and spat at the grass that lined the worn dirt path. Dottie looked at her, her face scrunched up. "Why can't you play like your sister, Kiiiiiittttt?!" Kit continued.

"No, no, no-" Dottie interrupted, but Kit interrupted her, a womanly falsetto in her voice instead of the almost funny male voice she had been faking.

"Why can't you be pretty like your sister, Kit?"

Dottie turned to look at her this time, actual outrage on her face. "Now, I know no one said that!"

Kit scoffed. "Well… no… but I know they were thinkin' it!" Kit said, her earlier confidence back. "Haven't you ever heard dad introduce us?"

"Just what are you talking about?"

Kit seemed to be ignoring her, and she spoke next in a deep, male voice, throwing her chest out and walking as upright as a stiffened board. "This," she said, gesturing to an empty space next to her. "Is our daughter, Dottie. And this- this is... Dottie's sister."

Dottie tried her hardest to stifle a bubble of laughter. "Oh, come on- dad would not do that!"

Kit shook her head and exhaled a long huff of breath. The farm was finally in eye-shot of the two sisters, and they would soon be walking through the small, soon-to-be-planted field.

"Why d'ya gotta be so good?" Kit asked softly.

Dottie was a little surprised by this question, so she was unable to react at first. Kit sped up her walking pace, sticking her arms out as she power-walked to the edge of the lifeless field. Dottie finally saw her speeding up, and walked faster than Kit to catch up with her.

"Why are you walking so fast?"

"I don't know, but can't you let me walk faster than you?" Kit asked, speeding up. Dottie followed, going just as fast as Kit.

After a few seconds, Kit looked around at Dottie, and then turned back around to walk even faster. They were walking through the field and into the yard, where the neurotic chickens bawked and fluttered away from the two women who paid them no attention. From inside of the farmhouse, an aggravated voice, roused by the sound of the anxious poultry, spoke out loudly. "Now, don't run out there, you'll scare the chickens- and you've both got to finish your chores!" their mother's voice, however, fell on deafened ears. The two sisters just sped up until they were sprinting to the barn. They both reached the barn's entrance way at the same time, but as Kit and Dottie's feet hit the threshold, Kit cried out triumphantly. Dottie, who knew that it had been a tie, nevertheless tried her hardest to look humbled for Kit, who was adamant that she had won.


	3. The Goods & Ernie The Scout Revised

**Chapter 3- "The Goods" & Ernie The Scout Revised**

Two girls were milking the cows at racing speed, both trying to finish before the other when a voice spoke up from the barn's entrance way.

"Doesn't that _hurt?" _An annoying-sounding, older male's voice asked.

Dottie looked up.

A man in a brown suit and a hat stood near the area where they kept the cows. He was of an indeterminable age, had a pudgy face, and ha eyes that looked a bit like eggs in the way they seemed to bulge out a little. He was staring at the two sisters as they milked the two cows as fast as they could, neither stopping despite the fact that they were being talked to by the stranger.

"Doesn't appear to." Dottie said in a half-interested tone.

"Well, it'd bruise the hell outta me." He said, cringing.

"Who are you?" Dottie said, glancing up at him momentarily before immediately returning to her fast-moving hands.

The man coughed nervously, then planted a smile on his face. He pulled his hat off.

"I saw you play today. Not bad... not bad... I'm Ernie Capadino- I work for Ira Lowenstein. Do you know who he is?" Dottie opened her mouth, ready to say that she didn't, when Ernie talked again, not waiting for an answer. "Ah, forget it- of course you don't. Well, he works for Walter Harvey- you know him, right? The guy who makes all of the candy- the uh, Harvey bar?"

Dottie looked up from the bucket, now beginning to wonder what in the hell he was there for. "Yeah, we give 'em to the cows when they're constipated." Dottie said, staring up at the man. Kit had all but stopped milking, now only going at it at a slow, crawling pace.

Ernie began to look uncomfortable. "Yeah, yeah, that's the guy... well, he's starting a girl's softball team, so he can make a buck while the men are off fighting. Wanna play?"

"Huh?" Dottie said blankly.

"Nice retort. Try answering, "Chicago." It's a real league."

"Is it REAL baseball?" Kit said, now grinning. She had completely stopped milking- much to her cow's irritation. It mooed at her once or twice before giving up.

"Uh, no, it's SOFTball. Kinda different rules, but basically the same thing. So, whaddaya say; they'll pay you seventy-five dollars a week."

"W- We only make thirty for our allowance!" Kit said to Dottie, visibly excited. She must have seen the look of dismissal in Dottie's eyes, because she was now looking at her pleadingly.

"Well then, this would be _more, _now, wouldn't it?" Ernie said sarcastically.

"Oh, come on," Dottie said, unswayed. "seventy-five a week? Why don't ya pull someone else's legs, mine are already long enough." She turned her face down, and continued milking as though Ernie wasn't there.

"Well, I can already see you can play ball..." Ernie said, watching as she got up and attempted to push a cow backwards with Kit's help. Or, whatever help she could obtain with Kit looking at Ernie as though he were the Pope or a circus freak. "But you're also kind of a dolly, which is what we're looking for."

"Oh, I see." Dottie said, angry. "Look, I'm a married woman, and my husband's over-seas."

"Oh, relax." Ernie said. "I'm talking lookie, no touchie."

Kit walked in front of him as soon as she was sure that Dottie wasn't looking, smiling as winningly as she could at Ernie.

"We're just looking for girls who are easy on the eyes." Ernie said. He was trying to look past the smaller, smiling woman, but he was finding it difficult as Kit kept trying to get back into his line of sight.

Before Dottie could even think of answering, Kit spoke. "Really?!'' She was smiling from ear-to-ear. As Dottie herded the cow outside, she watched Kit with a small, humored smirk on her lips, thinking, _good for her, she's always wanted out of here._

Ernie looked at her with a pained smile. "Really." He answered. He opened his mouth, about to talk again when Kit spoke again, speaking as quickly as she could.

"Oh wow, I've course I'll go, I'm ready to leave right now!" She looked as though she was about to pee herself in happiness, but Dottie could only roll her eyes and bend down to milk another cow until the bucket filled up, and prepare to lift it to the side where she could cover it up.

"No, I don't want you- I want _her."_ Ernie said, drawing out the "her". Dottie, who had been lifting the bucket of milk, dropped it to the hay-covered ground, spilling its contents all over the place in shock. She yelped and picked the bucket up, trying to salvage whatever milk was left in it. Ernie, who seemed unfazed by the accident, pushed past Kit to stand next to the cow that Dottie had finished milking. "So, what do you say, milk maid? Ready to earn the big bucks- and entertain the families of our boys at war, of course?" He wore a salesman smile on his face and was holding his hand out to her. Dottie glared up at him from her spot on the ground after she managed to pick the bucket up. She looked up at Ernie, annoyed.

"No. I am married, and I'm not going away from here. Besides, you should just take Kit if you want a good pitcher. Trust me, she's a great player- she just didn't get a chance to pitch today."

Ernie's mouth was opened and he looked as though he was struggling for words. "Well, screw your marriage- this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I mean, how can you turn this down?" Dottie looked away from him and began hauling the bucket of milk away to stand next to Kit's own. After awhile, she spoke, but she didn't turn around to look at Ernie.

"Look, either take Kit, or just go. I'm not leaving this farm."

Ernie was silent for a long moment, then he put his hat on and smiled nonchalantly. "Very well then- it's no skin off my bones if you want to stay plucking cows."

He left.

Kit turned to give Dottie a look of accusation as her sister turned to look at her, then she ran out of the barn. She found Ernie angrily kicking at the chickens who stood in front of the barn. "Would somebody just chain these wild animals up- hasn't anybody around here heard of a LEASH?!"

Kit paid his outburst no attention, and she ran up to him, grabbing onto his arm. "Wait, please! I can prove I'm a star pitcher- just wait right here, and I'll go get my mitt-" she turned away from him and in he direction of the farmhouse, shouting loud enough now to make Ernie wince. "DAD! DAD, GET MY MITT AND A BALL!"

Ernie ripped his arm out of her grip, and walked away, muttering, "Goddamn country girls." under his breath. Kit reached forward to grab onto him, but Ernie shook her off and whipped around to face her. "Look, I don't want to see you pitch, alright? I came here to get the goods- she's got the goods." he gave Kit a sweeping glance that reminded Kit, uncomfortably, of how farmers sized up cattle that were set up for sale during auctions. "You don't got the goods."

Kit began to stammer, feeling tears building up in her. "What can I do? Please, please, I have to get out of here, I have to get away from here…" Tears came into Kit's eyes then, making Ernie feel partially annoyed- but also partially regretful. It was his job to get only the best, and to turn down the rest, but he felt sorry for some of the more unfortunate girls he came across. Especially the ones that cried. But, what was he supposed to do? This one didn't have what he needed to get paid… Maybe in a few years, but now...?

He looked down at the womanly arm that had grasped ahold of his own. The sight of a good amount of muscle mass on it made something click in his head. Without thinking, he reached down to gently squeeze her upper arm, wondering if she might somehow be good enough to come along after all.

Her arm looked pretty strong…

Kit was uncomfortable with the way Ernie was squeezing the slightly muscled part of her arm, although she did not jerk her arm out of his grip.

"So, you're a pitcher, huh…?" He said, mostly to himself. Kit had to shake off the feeling of how weird the situation she was in then was.

"Yeah."

Ernie let go abruptly.

He looked up from beyond Kit's shoulder, and saw the slender-looking woman who stood, leaning against the barn's gate frame, arms crossed, her face blank of any expression. Looking as beautiful as she did and being as talented as Ernie had witnessed earlier, she was shoe-in for the league. And maybe her sister wasn't _completely _hopeless, either. Ernie looked back at her less talented sister as a thought popped into his head.

"Look, kid," He said, leaning in closer to her. "You get her to come- and you can come along. Beyond whether or not the team owners scout you for one of their teams is out of my control- but you'll get a chance to prove yourself if you can get her to come along. Alright?"

Kit nodded eagerly and smiled slightly.

Ernie sighed. "If you can get her to come, go to the train station," He handed her two rectangular shaped slips of paper from his suit pocket. "And use these to board the train to a place called Fort Collins. I'll be waiting on it- and I'll leave whether you're there or not. If you don't, well, it's no skin off my bones." Kit nodded. Ernie, having decided that he had just done his good deed for the day, walked back to his car. He was humming "Old MacDonald" under his breath.


	4. Marla Revised

**Chapter 4- Marla Revised**

**Author's Note:** Okay, all I have to say is that I have a small request for the handful of people who read and appreciate this- if you know the movie well, and see a mistake I make, please message me and tell me what I messed up. I can't be a perfectionist in this story, since I haven't seen it in awhile, but I really am trying my best. With that all said and done, enjoy this installment.

-- **_Mad Red Queen_**

* * *

Ernie had sat in his actually rather comfortable train seat when Random Business Man In Self-Important Grey Suit (Or Businessman for short) had gotten it into his head to talk. To _him. _

Ungh.

"And so, since this war's started, sales have gone UP! I'm telling you, life could not be better for a man in my profession!" Ernie, who had been smiling and nodding politely throughout Businessman's happy speech, finally spoke.

"Well, if "I" was you, I'd kill myself." Businessman's smile faded quickly as he realized what Ernie had said, and a shocked look covered his features. Ernie, on the other hand, stood up and gave Businessman a sarcastic, cruel smile. "Hang on a sec, let me see if I can dig up a pistol for you." He shook his head, annoyed, and began to speak to no on in particular as he moved up the train, carrying his suitcase in one hand. "Why am I ALWAYS seated next to one of these guys on the train?!" After a moment, he found an empty seat in the front of the train. He tossed his suitcase under a seat, and plopped onto the seat, sparing a quick look at the area the train now began to slowly inch past. He did a double-take after he looked, being sure that what he thought he saw wasn't a mirage.

Sure enough, however, he realized that he was watching the milkmaids from that dinky little farm running after the train with impressive speed, their dresses whipping in the wind, both of their left hands cemented to the hats they both wore on their heads with the other grasping onto their small suitcases for dear life. Ernie's eyes widened slightly and he sat back in his seat.

"Well, I've gotta hand it to them," he said, again to no one in particular. "They sure can _run._"

In moments, he was surprised once more by the sight of the ticket boy helping the two wind-whipped red-heads onto the train, who looked even more surprised than Ernie. He quickly verified the tickets as real, and closed the entrance to the train. Before he did, however, he stuck his head out to look outside of the train, brought his head back in, then stuck it back out before finally shutting it closed.

The two girls looked up from the steps, saw Ernie, and smiled at him. Or at least, Kit did.

Ernie honestly did his best in smiling earnestly, but it nonetheless came off as sarcastic. Not that the girls cared. They both practically collapsed into empty train seats near Ernie. They both soon sank into the seats, sighing contently.

"Didja promise the cows you'd write?"--

It was a couple of hours into the rather comfortable ride that Kit looked over at Ernie from the top of the newspaper he had been reading for most of the train ride.

"How far are we from Chicago?"

Ernie, who had been lighting a cigar stub, folded his paper backwards so he could look at Kit. "Dunno, but we're gonna have to make a quick stop at Fort Collins." He looked at her, sucking on the cigar stub before blowing out a puff of smoke, wearing a smile."I gotta look at another girl- I hope you aren't jealous."--

It had been hell to rent the car that they had rode in, but it had been better than walking in the rain that slammed the town of Fort Collins when they rode into town. Nevertheless, when they finally got ahold of the car, all of them had to get dressed in drier clothes. Dottie and Kit both turned in the opposite direction when Ernie got dressed, humming loudly, and when it was both Kit and Dottie's turn, they both blushed a deep red and hesitated in undressing. Ernie told the both of them with his usual level of understanding to get over themselves, since he was a married man, which gave the girls enough bravery to get undressed quickly before wrestling new blue plaid dresses on. True to his word, Ernie spent more time looking at the soaking wet trees and grass that lined the road than anything.

After that mess was done, all three donned their respective hats, and made their way to where Marla and John Hooch were waiting to be mercilessly judged. Kit and Dottie were both wondering the same thing, when Kit vocalized it first.

"Where are they gonna be able to play ball with it pourin' out like this?" Kit asked Ernie, looking out the window in time to catch a flash of lightening in the distance.

"Well, gee, it'd have to be _indoors, _wouldn't it?" he said sarcastically. "But Mr. Hooch said they were going to be playing in the high school where he teaches if it rains. He warned me that the weather around here is really weird, so we planned for this."

After awhile, they finally rode into a small town, which looked as though all it housed were a few general stores and a pretty big building, which they pulled into the parking lot of.

"Wow," Kit said, awed. "Is THIS the high school?"

"Yeah, pretty snazzy, isn't it? Been here a few times, and trust me- this place is really modern." he turned to sneer at Dottie and Kit. "Not like _your _little country town, I'd wager."

Dottie's eyebrows creased together in annoyance. "Look, this town ain't much more than Livingston." Kit nodded in agreement.

"Hmph. We'll see what you think of BIG cities when we reach Chicago." Ernie said, opening the driver's side door and wincing as he took out his umbrella and walked into the wind and rain. Both Kit and Dottie looked at each other in alarm as he walked to the double doors of the high school.

"H-Hey, are we supposed to come with you?!" Kit yelled out to him from a crack in her side's door.

"Come in if you want, milkmaids!" Ernie shouted back, halfway to the door. Kit stumbled out of the door, and Dottie followed, slamming the door behind her and racing after Ernie, who muttered to himself on how amazingly fast they ran.

When they threw open the door and made it inside, they all breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the icy cold rain. No sooner than they settled down, however, they could hear the screeching noise of a bell ringing out from the rooms inside of the building. Teenagers came walking out of the rooms, the girls wearing rural skirts or dresses, and the boys wearing clothing ranging from white T-shirts and work-faded jeans to over-alls. Looking at the teens, both Dottie and Kit felt as though they were back home because of how alike the two town's teens dressed. As soon as they took in the sight of the scurrying about teens, however, they were, in turn, also noticed. A few boys took one look at Kit and Dottie and wolf whistled, but most just stared at them in surprise. The girls looked at the two strange women as though they were some strange exhibit at the zoo, or if they had a boyfriend holding hands with them, they were too busy glaring at the pretty strangers to be surprised.

Dottie was wondering why it was that she felt so odd-fitting in this place, then she remembered the straw hat she was wearing. Kit, apparently, remembered the same thing, and they both whipped the wet hats off of their head quickly. Ernie, no doubt, knew that he wasn't obeying the custom of taking your hat off indoors, but he probably didn't much care, since the hat stayed on his head.

"Hey, do any of you brats know the way to the gym?" Ernie yelled to nobody in particular.

Two teen boys, one with orangish blond hair and the other with a shaved head, ran up to them, grinning at the two women broadly.

"We can take you there, mister." They both said in near unison. Kit had to stifle a giggle, but Dottie rolled her eyes. By the time they reached the gym with the help of the two boys who spent most of the time standing uncomfortably close to both Dottie and Kit, the bell for the next class period rang out, and the boys, seemingly forgetting the two women, ran off with looks on their faces that seemed to say, _Oh shit, I'm late!_

"Thanks!" Kit yelled out after them as they rounded a corner, going out of view. Ernie shook his head and pushed open the double doors of the gym, holding one open for the two women chivalrously.

"Thank-you, Mr. Capadino." Dottie said as she passed him.

"No problem, milkmaid." He said in a voice that could almost be considered kind- if it hadn't been him that was using it.

As they walked in, they were greeted by the sight of a grey-haired, over-weight man blowing a whistle and clapping his hands impatiently at a group of teen boys wearing gym shorts who ran around the gym, huffing and puffing.

"C'mon," The man shouted, spitting his whistle out, enraged. "If that's all you powder-puffs got, We don't stand a chance against Fredericksburg, now, I wanna see some sweat!"

Ernie looked at him, a small smile forming on his lips. "I'm guessing that this is John Hooch. Now, where's his daughter...?"

"C'mon boys, this is nothing! I wanna see some-" It seemed that as soon as Ernie had finally begun to finally take his hat off, the man stopped mid-rant to stare at them, surprised.

Ernie smiled at him. "Mr. Hooch?"

Mr. Hooch ran up to them, leaving the running boys enough of a break to stop running and look at the people who had walked into the gym, puzzled.

"I'm so glad you could make it, Mr. Capadino!" Mr. Hooch said when he reached them. He was a little out of breath and red-faced. He held his hand out to Ernie, fighting to catch his breath. "...You ARE the talent scout for the women's league, right?"

Ernie continued to smile as he shook Mr. Hooch's meaty hand. "Yes, I'm Ernie Capadino- talent extraordinaire. And, where's your...?"

"Ah, Marla- she's getting dressed." Mr. Hooch was finally done with shaking Ernie's hand, and now seemed to notice Dottie and Kit. he looked a little surprised. And, as though knowing what Mr. Hooch wanted to ask, Ernie answered him before he could ask.

"These are just some more players I picked up before I came to scout your girl- never mind them." Mr. Hooch's mouth formed the word _oh _in understanding.

"Well, these ladies can go sit in the bleachers," His face broke wide into a grin. "But they'll have to watch where they sit, because Marla-" then, he suddenly turned away from them. "Marla!"

When Dottie turned to look at what Mr. Hooch was looking at, she saw the shape in the baseball uniform wearing the red baseball helmet come out of the ladies' locker room, holding a bat.

"Your daughter, I presume?" Ernie said.

Mr. Hooch nodded proudly. "Let's show Mr. Capadino what he came to see!" Mr. Hooch shouted to the person in the baseball attire. The shape nodded back at him vigorously, walking a strange stooped walk to an open closet near the bleachers.

"She's just getting the baseball stuff." Mr Hooch answered them before anyone could ask.

Both Dottie and Kit took the moment as a good time to go sit in the top row of the right-side bleachers, putting their suitcases on their laps and putting their slightly dried hats back on their heads. The shape came out as soon as they sat down, holding a wooden bat and a baseball.

"She's really talented, Mr. Capadino." Mr. Hooch said from the wooden floor beneath the bleachers where Dottie and Kit were seated.

As they watched the figure wearing the helmet hand Mr. Hooch the baseball and began to walk away, Kit spoke.

"I can't see her too well- what d'ya think she looks like?"

Dottie shrugged. "I can't really tell."

The figure finally spoke. "Which side, daddy?" a woman's nervous voice asked from beneath the helmet.

"Right side first, sweet-heart." he said. He looked away from his daughter, and at one of the boys who were watching as the figure raised the bat above her head, readying to swing. "You pitch to Marla." He ordered.

The boy looked as though he wanted to object, but he took the ball without complaint. Mr. Hooch stood back next to Ernie, who he looked at with pride visible in his features. "Watch _this._"

The pitching boy looked at Marla reluctantly before sighing and winding up to throw the baseball he was holding. It was then that Dottie noticed how the boys has positioned themselves around the gym as though they were playing a game of baseball- one standing behind Marla with a worried look on his face, and the other playing in the area that looked like the closest thing to an outfield. And then, the boy playing pitcher launched the ball at Marla. Marla hit it hard, sending it hitting off the white painted wall on the left side of the gym. It whacked it hard, but it wasn't anything that looked as though it wowed Ernie. One of the boys playing in the outfield plucked the ball up, and threw it at the pitcher.

Marla readied herself and the bat as the pitcher tossed it at her. She whacked it, again hitting the wall.

"That's good, honey!" Mr. Hooch shouted.

One of the boys threw the ball at the pitcher, and the same process continued, this time with Marla not hitting the ball, which was instead caught by the boy behind her.

"That's good, Marla!" He shouted, sounding even prouder. He turned to Ernie, the wide smile from before on his face. "She's got an eye like DiMaggio."

She hit another ball against the railing before Mr. Hooch spoke up again. "Left side now, honey!"

All of the boys in the gym groaned at the same time, dismayed. Kit turned to look at Dottie, puzzled. Dottie looked back at her, shrugging her shoulders.

This time, when the pitcher threw the ball at Marla, it went away from the wall and hit the railing on the second floor of the gym hard enough to bounce off of the railing and against the wall next to it before hitting the wood floor with an audible _whack._ Dottie could see Ernie perk up from the stands.

"Oh, wow." Kit said, awed.

"She's good." Dottie whispered back, amazed.

Marla repeated herself, the ball going the same way, this time the only difference being that it very narrowly missed whacking a poor teen boy in the back of the head before smacking to the ground in another loud whack.

Ernie, apparently having decided that he'd seen enough, walked over to Mr. Hooch.

"She's your daughter?"

"Yeah- it's just me and her. Her mother's dead, and I've been coaching her to play baseball since she was two." he looked away for a millisecond, sighed, and said, "There was this coach for the American Legion team who said that if she'd been a boy, he'd have taken her to state tournament. I told him that if she was a boy, I'd be in New York, talkin' to the Yankees instead of living in this place."

Marla hit another ball, this one, instead, going over the railing to break through a window on the second floor. To Dottie's amazement, aside from a slight wince that a few of the boys had at the sound of the glass breaking, nobody seemed to care about the broken window.

"O.K, that's enough- bring her over here." Ernie said as he walked down the bleachers to the floor

Mr. Hooch looked over at his daughter, nodding at her. She dropped her bat, and walked over to Ernie. Mr. Hooch immediately put an arm around his daughter, giving her an one-armed hug. "Take off your cap, honey." He said softly. Marla seemed to hesitate, but she took it off, looking down at the ground for a moment before lifting her face up to Ernie's. Neither Dottie nor Kit could see her face too well, but they could both see that look of immediate distaste on Ernie's face.

"Uh- we'll let you know." Ernie said hurriedly, turning to look up at Mr. Hooch. He began walking up to the area where Dottie and Kit had begun to stand up from their seats.

"Oh, daddy!" Marla cried, burying her face against Mr. Hooch's chest. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her.

Ernie stood at the foot of the bleachers, tapping his foot impatiently. "C'mon, c'mon- move, move!" He shouted to them as they walked down the bleacher's steps.

"What's wrong?" Kit asked him as soon as she reached the ground.

"We can't use _her_." He hissed. He looked from Dottie and Kit to the two people who stood in the center of the gym, the taller comforting the squat one.

"Why not? She's great." Dottie said.

"Well... do you know General Omar Bradley?" Ernie said. Both girls looked at each other, sharing a suspicious glance.

"Yeah, so?" Dottie finally said.

"Well... there's just too much of a resemblance."

"Ya aren't gonna bring her 'cuz she ain't _pretty_?" Kit asked, shocked. Ernie turned away from Dottie, now focused completely on Kit.

"Gee, glad to see you finally decided to join the conversation!" He snapped. The two girls looked at him, disgusted looks on their faces before they turned to look back at each other. In one fluid moment, both dropped their suitcases and bags on the ground, arms crossed across their chests.

"Pick those suitcases up!" Ernie barked at them, to which the women both looked at him defiantly. As they stood, glaring at him, John Hooch walked up behind Ernie, a look of barely pent up sadness in his eyes.

"Please." he said, in as humble a tone as a man like him probably could manage. "I know she ain't as pretty as those other girls you've got over there- but I raised her like a little boy after her mother died. I didn't know any better, but don't make her pay for my mistake. She wants to play. She just wants to play. Please." Ernie looked past the father, and to the woman player in question.

From what Dottie could see, she wore her hair back a little, allowing her toady face to be seen, which had become saturated in tears. She looked back at Ernie with a stoop-shouldered stance, eyeing him with a look as miserable as her father's.--

As Ernie watched the ugly wannabe softball player hug her father, he felt impatient. The girls he picked up before her were already situated on the train, but he had to pull this one away from her dad, which was a chore that Ernie couldn't remember agreeing to do when he signed up for his job.

"I love you, daddy." Marla whispered softly, her arms still latched around her father's. Ernie had suppress a groan. He walked up to the two, pulling his hat back onto his head.

"We have to go- you see, the trick is that the train movies, not the station." Marla looked up from her father's shoulder, her eyes reddened from tears. Her father looked up at Ernie, a sad, but somehow happy look in his eyes.

"You take care of my little girl, alright, Mr. Capadino?"

Ernie nodded. "Don't worry, I'll take her to the field in one piece. It's the folk at the field ya gotta worry about for her, not me."

Marla's father nodded understandingly before turning to Marla once more. "Now, you've got to go with Mr. Capadino. Don't worry, I'm sure those other girls will watch out for you, okay?"

Marla nodded, a small smile somehow forming. "I'll write you every chance I get." She promised.

Ernie made an impatient sound in his throat. "We've got to go now- the train's gonna pull away." He said, annoyed.

Marla finally looked away from her father as she stood up shakily. She looked back down at him one last time. "I love you, daddy." She said softly.

Mr. Hooch smiled at her. "You be a good girl now- and show all of those other girls how they should really play ball."

Marla nodded, finally turning to Ernie. "I'm ready to go, Mr. Capadino." She said, looking back at the ground in her hunched-shoulders stance.

Ernie scoffed. "REALLY, princess? Well, I'm glad to hear that; now let's get on the train before it pulls away with my other girls on it."

They both hurried onto the train, just making it on board before it really _did_ pull away. Marla waved to her father from the window as the train pulled away. He waved back at first, then, with a huge smile on his face, tears rolling off his cheeks. He curled his hands as though he was holding a bat, and swung, smiling.

As soon as they pulled away from the station, Marla looked away from the window, looking bereft. In moments, her head was lowered into her hands as she cried quietly. Both Dottie and Kit were on their feet in a second, nearly running over to the silently sobbing girl to sit on either side of her, hugging her gently and whispering kind, optimistic words to her. She leaned into them, crying a little loudly and sobbing as she spoke, to Ernie's horror.

"He… he was my dada!" Marla cried.

Dottie rubbed the top of her head. "It's aright," she cooed. "We had to leave our parents, too, and sure, we'll miss 'em, but we'll do just fine. Won't we, Kit?"

Kit looked up from Marla's shoulder, and nodded vigorously. "Yeah, yeah, we know we'll make 'em proud, though."

Marla looked up from her hands finally, looking at Kit. "R-r-really? Do you think I can make my daddy proud of me, because… because they say I ain't pretty, an' that I wouldn't ever leave home. But I am… an'… an'…" She erupted into a new stream of tears, letting out a loud, nasally sob.

By tha point, Ernie had made a point of holding his hand over his face and had pulled a newspaper out, trying to look his most as though he didn't know the hysterical girl on the other side of the aisle. _Oh god, but I _hate _a hysterical woman._ He thought, annoyed. When he had agreed to the high-paying job, he had entered it, hoping with all of his heart that moments like the one he was enduring right then wouldn't happen. But here it was happening, to his mortification.

Dottie and Kit, on the other hand, had no problems with being the center of attention on the train, right along with Marla.

"I'm _sure _you'll make your… um, dad proud, Marla." Dottie said, trying with all of her considerable strength to make Marla perk up. "And, come on, if you're worried about being pretty, all we got to do is daub some make-up on you, give you a nice, pretty dress, and I'm sure the boys won't be able to keep their hands off of you. Isn't that right, Kit?"

Kit looked back at her, disbelief written plainly on her face. Dottie angled her foot right, and kicked at Kit's own foot, making Kit moan painfully and clutch at her foot. Marla looked up from her lap to look at her curiously. Kit smiled at her- it was the widest, fakest grin that Dottie had ever seen Kit give, and she had a hard time stopping herself from laughing. "Y-yeah," Kit began, still grinning that fake smile that now reminded Dottie of the Cheshire cat from one of her and Kit's favorite books as kids. "I'm sure that if you're all worked up about that, someone from your team'll help ya out if you get picked."

Marla smiled at her. Her eyes, however, kept streaming tears. "Really?" She asked in a wheezy voice, hoarse from her sobbing. Both girls nodded in unison. Marla wiped at her nose, snorting a little before she looked over at Dottie. "Thank you." she said. The tears had, thankfully, stopped. "What're your names?"

Kit jumped back in at this point, leaning forward in her seat as far as she could. "I'm Kit, and this is my older, and much less talented and pretty sister, Dottie!"

Dottie gave her a death glare from above Marla's head, but it quickly disappeared when Marla turned to look at her.

"Dottie, huh?" She asked slowly.

"Well, you see, my real name's Dorothy, but everyone calls me Dottie." A look of understanding came into Marla's eyes, and she nodded.

"Oh- um, in case you didn't know, my name's Marla. Marla Hooch." She held both of her hands out to the girls on either side of her. They both shook her hands.

"Yeah, we kinda knew already- but that's okay!" Kit said, letting go of Marla's hand after giving it a quick, hard shake. Dottie shook her hand also, but she did it with a bit of deliberateness to it, not clutching it and waving her hand around crazily with Marla's hand in it like how Kit had. She disengaged slowly, returning her hand back to her lap. The three girls sat back into the train seat, hands folded in their laps. They were quiet for a long moment before Dottie spoke up, turning to look over at Ernie, who still sat in his seat with a hand over the side of his face, trying to look interested in his newspaper.

"So, how far do you think we are from Chicago?"

Ernie had his face buried in his newspaper , but they could just barely hear him mumble, "What? Who are you girls? I don't know you three at all…"

"Ernie!" Dottie said crossly.--


	5. Harvey Field Revised

**Chapter 5- Harvey Field Revised**

**Author's Note: **Huzzah, we've officially hit our 100th click anniversary for this story! Yay!

**_(Spoilers)-- _**Some things that I felt were necessary in this chapter was one of the things that disappointed me in the movie, so, this being my story, I added a scene where we can see inside of the, surprisingly, kind mind of Ernie. I also thought that it'd be interesting to see what happens when Dottie and Kit are place head-to-head on the field in different teams of wanna-be players. And, yes, this is where it leads into the action parts of the story.

So, for the few of you who've been reading this- here it is. So, please don't hate me.

-- **_Mad Red Queen_**

* * *

The three women who had just entered the field were looking at the girls around them, who were all busy throwing balls at each other for practice or running laps in the grass.

Away from the groups of practicing girls, the three spotted a duo- one of which was balancing a bat on her palm, and the other was tying cleats. The one who was balancing the bat was a portly, brown-haired woman wearing a navy blue uniform. She was paying an intense amount of concentration to the baseball bat she was carefully balancing on the palm of her right hand and had to sway every once in awhile to try to stop the bat from falling.

"Hey Mae, wouldja look at this?!" she shouted.

Her friend, a beauty with plump lips and a well-curved body, looked up from tying her cleats. As she did, she squinted up at her and blew a cloud of Virginia Slims out of her lips, pulling out her cigarette from her lips. "Whaaaaattt, Doris?" She asked, drawling it.

"What? This is what; look!" Doris balanced the bat more carefully, a grin spreading across her face. The skinny woman, Mae, gave her a thoroughly uninpressed look.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I ain't done yet!" Doris bounced the bat from the handle to the top of the bat.

"So?" The skinny woman said, going back to tying her cleats up.

""So?" I bet you can't do it." She said, balancing the bat once more.

"Yeah I can." The skinny woman said, finally finishing tying up her cleats, looking up at Doris.

"No you can't. Didja know that I almost ended up in the hospital once because of doing this?"

"How?"

"I wasn't being careful with the bat- and it hit me in the face-" Doris feigned hitting herself in the face with her free hand. "Bam!"

"Well, are ya sure it didn't hit your bottom instead, because _that _looks pretty swollen." Doris dropped the bat on the ground, angered.

"Hey, now what kind of a thing is that to say-?!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, I'm just nervous-."

With the two arguing at each other, neither of them noticed the three women walking up to them.

"What are you looking at?" Mae said, noticing them.

Dottie looked away. "Nothin'."

"Yeah, that's right, nothin'." Doris muttered.

"You know, there's just four teams, and each one is only accepting seventeen- so that means that some of you's is gonna have to go home."

"What's that supposed to mean- "Some of us"?" Kit said angrily.

Doris and Mae gave her almost cruel smiles, but before a fight could start, Dottie grabbed onto her sister's arm roughly, trying to pull her away. "Hey, hey, hey, you have to calm down and not fight during the try-outs; alright?"

Kit tried to pry herself out of her sister's grip, feeling her anger building up. But, no matter how hard she tried to twist out of Dottie's hands, Dottie clenched onto her arm, refusing to let go. "Dottie, come on, I'm not a little kid-"

What the two sisters didn't see was how the other two women were looking at each other as though they were thinking the same thing. Doris quietly put the bat she had been holding down, and picked up a baseball that was near her feet. She grabbed it and threw it in Kit's direction.

What neither women noticed, however, was how Dottie had glanced in their direction a second before Doris had thrown the ball.

It was all Dottie needed.

In moments, Dottie shouldered her sister out of the way and caught the ball with her bare hand. The other two women stared in shock back at her as she threw the ball at Doris and began to walk away. Kit looked over at her sister's back in shock, looked back at the two women, and ran after her sister, yelling for her to wait.

"Okay, some of _them_ are going home." Mae said, awed. Doris snapped out of her shock quickly, and picked up her ball. She walked after the two women, shouting at them.

"Hey, how'd you do that?! HEY! I'm talkin' to you- yes, you, the one who caught this?" She held up the baseball, and when she didn't get a response from Dottie or Kit, she continued to yell.

"HEY!"--

From behind the stands, Ernie had found a secluded spot to watch the three girls he had brought to the field. Sure, he had told them he was leaving to go back home, but old habits, like his, died hard.

Despite his I-don't-give-a-goddamn exterior, he was, truthfully, a soft guy on the inside when it came to his daughters back home, and even though he had always been a cold-hearted talent scout to the men and teenage boys he was used to scouting before the war started, for some reason, he felt obligated to stay and watch these three girls he had plucked from their parents. And, although it shamed the rude, tough-hearted man to admit, the three girls had reminded him of his own twin girls back home.

He had found an area under a few bleachers on the field that was, for the most part, tidy, and had pulled out a Harvey bar- which was a perk in his current job as a recruiter for the Harvey Corp. Since in taking the job, he currently had a certificate at home and in his pocket that verified that he and his family could get as many Harvey bars as they wanted for an entire year.

He winced at the thought of how often the certificate he had left at home was being used. His two little girls were probably covered in head to toe in chocolate and were driving their mother insane as he sat there under the bleachers. Despite how frankly horrifying the thought of his two already hyper-enough daughters amped up on 100 percent milk chocolate and peanuts was, he couldn't stop himself from smiling when he thought of the image of his two daughters running around the house at a hundred miles an hour, jabbering at a thousand miles an hour to each other, and their mother following them, screaming, "PUT SOME CLOTHES ON, FOR GOD'S SAKE, THE JACOBS WILL SEE!" The Jacobs were their senile, old neighbors, and the reason the image of that scene popped into his head was because it had happened before while he was home- at least twice.

_Well, it's time to go back, old fellow. So, why aren't you leaving?_

Good question.

He groaned impatiently as his eyes followed the last girl he had picked up- Marla- walking her slouched walk across the field, looking for something.

He wanted to say to himself that he just wanted to see if the girls he had bet on to be winners would make it in a team, but in truth (and he knew this, but he absolutely hated himself for it) was that he was worried about them and had second thoughts about tearing them away from their families to join an, in his opinion, exclusively all-male sport.

Why he should give a damn deeply worried him.

In his personal rulebook, when a recruiter got emotionally attached to the athletes he brought with him, he was useless. And, back at the last stop, he _had, _undoubtedly, gotten emotionally involved with that Marla Hooch and her father.

Try as hard as he could, when he had looked into John Hooch's eyes, who was trying his hardest to not cry (because it wouldn't be right, especially for a man like John Hooch, to cry) and sacrificing his pride to beg him to just let his daughter to have a try at playing...

When he saw that look of stark, fatherly love in the other man's eyes back there, Ernie could only see a mirror of the same look in his eyes when he had watched his oldest daughter, Emilia, dancing in her school play for her elementary school.

And he couldn't say no to that, damn his soft heart.

So there he was, quietly watched as the three girls went about walking around, talking to other wanna-be softball players, waiting for their chance to shine. As he did, he tried his hardest to force himself to get up and just go home- and not see all of these laughing, practicing girls as older images of his own two girls at home. But he couldn't.

In the end, he managed to tell himself that, no, he wasn't worried about the three in particular he had hand-picked, but he was just curious to see who made it. And, after they played, got onto a team or get sent back home, he would sneak out of the field and go back home to the four girls he _should_ be worried and care about; his wife and daughters.

Him; worry over two milkmaids from Oregon and a she-troll?

No way no how.--

A man in a black baseball cap stepped into the center of the loud gaggle of noisy, running women, and blew a loud, shrill whistle. "Women! Women! Everybody, line-up and get ready to play ball!"

All of the women walked, hushed, over to the place where the man had told them to stand in place. They all waited in silence as the man with the black baseball cap sauntered through the group, a look on his face that hinted that gears were grinding and churning in his head. He finally spoke up, making high, exaggerated gestures with his arms and hands.

"Okay- this half of the group-" he pointed to one distinct half of the group. "Plays offensive first." A series of whispers and looks of surprise from both now divided groups ensued.

"By elimination, can the rest o' you dames figure out where your spots are?" The two groups of women could only gape at each other. The man in the baseball cap turned his head down, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and muttered, "I had better get paid well for this." under his breath.

"Look, the bat's on the home plate, the ball's on the pitcher's mound, and _the grass is growing as we're speaking!_ Now, put two-and-two together and start before the team owners leave!"

As the women all sheepishly shuffled out into their prospective dug-outs, a woman wearing a uniform bearing the logo of a dairy farm realized that the one person she had been trying to look out for was not among the group shuffling into the dug-out.

Kit.

Dottie looked around crazily, somehow feeling a sense of panic as the many faces she looked at did not resemble her own at all.

"Kit? Kit?!" she said, spinning around, becoming panicked. "KIT?!"

No one answered. And then, her eyes flew to the other dugout further away from theirs. A short, slender girl with a head of unmistakable dark red hair was looking around in a panic. Dottie looked at the shape, feeling her heart sink.

She was going to have play against her sister?

"Hey, hey." A voice interrupted loudly, cutting through the loud chattering inside of the dugout. A girl with long, curled blonde hair was waving madly, trying to get everyone's attention. "There's a note over here- I think we're supposed to do what it says!"

The blond was pointing to a piece of paper that was stuck to the cement wall in the dugout. Dottie watched, mildly interested, as the blond pulled it off of the wall and began to read it aloud.

"Dear team A…' I think that's us! 'We will be watching your game against Team B from the stands, but do not feel as though you need to win; we just want to see how everyone works in a team, and who the strongest links are. Now, your first problem is to pick out first who your temporary coach will be- she will be the one who will pick out everyone else's position, so choose well'…" The blond looked around with a look that seemed to beg everyone in the dugout to please not kill the messenger.

"Jesus Christ- does anyone here got any coachin' experience?!" A woman who Dottie recognized as Doris yelled out.

Dottie, who had found a bench in the dugout to sit on, groaned and looked down. During the games back home, she was a coach- but she didn't want to be in charge of a ragtag group of girls who all acted as though they had something to prove. She lowered her baseball cap over her face, and told herself that someone in the dugout will step up as coach, leaving her to try her hardest to just not stumble over her own cleats…

"Anyone? No one?" The fat woman challenged, looking at each girls face accusingly. "Well?"

_Just keep looking down, Dot. They can't smell a coach in a group of girls… can they?_

"Come on, someone- if I could, I'd be the coach, but all's I know about is playin'!" The woman had begun to pace around the dugout, giving every girl a hard glance. _Don't worry, there _has _to be someone else here with experience…_

"If we don't pick out a coach, I'm just gonna pick one of you's girls at random, alright? And you know what? We'll _lose _if we do that, and do you broads all wanna lose?" Every girl, like Dottie, had lowered their heads, and were as quiet as church mice, but unlike Dottie, they weren't hoping desperately that every other girl in the dugout would turn to them and scream, "She's a liar! She's a coach- grab her!"

"Oh, come on, someone step up-"

And finally, Dottie could not take it anymore. She stood up, sighed, then spoke as loudly as she could without yelling. "Yeah, I got coaching experience." The fat woman had her mouth open while Dottie was speaking, as though she was surprised that someone had actually spoken up. Her skinny friend, the one who, like Doris, seemed utterly surprised by how Dottie had caught the ball earlier, came out of the back of the crowd to look at Dottie.

"Well, look, it's the Oregon super girl. So, you can coach _and _catch like how you did before, huh?"

Dottie tried her hardest to shrug nonchalantly. She always hated it when someone questioned her about something- especially if she didn't know whether to trust the person in question or not. "Y- yeah." Dottie said.

Mae smiled and mouthed the word, _whoa. _"So, what do they give to feed you Oregon folk, anyway? I mean, Jesus…" She shook her head, still smiling. Doris looked over to Mae, and they both shared a similar look of slight surprise.

Dottie coughed nervously- but when she spoke next, she shot orders to the girls in the dugout as efficiently and seriously as an army general.

"You," She pointed to a nervous-looking redhead to her right. "What are you good at?"

"W- Well-"

"Spit it out." Dottie ordered.

"Well, I'm really good at throwin', and-"

"Pitcher." Dottie said. She turned to another girl, snapping her fingers at her.

"I saw you earlier when I was walking around- you can run pretty fast, and catch well. You be an outfielder." The girl gave her a surprised look, but she nodded compliantly.

Before Dottie could movie onto another nervous girl, Doris spoke up. "O.K… "Coach", what am I?"

Dottie looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.


	6. Temporary Coach Dottie Hinson Revised

**Chapter 6- (Temporary) Coach Dottie Hinson Revised**

**Author's Note:** Yeah, I know it's been forever- sorry. O.K, now that that's out of the way, I just wanted to stress that I barely know a bat from a ball when it comes to baseball, so I had to do some research for this chapter. Oh, another interesting note is that I decided to add this beginning scene as a last-minute add-in. I hope it works ;)

-- **_Mad Red Queen_**

* * *

Two Days Before The Try-Outs--

From the second floor of an old, run-down house laid an out-of-shape, snoring man on an old-looking bed, one arm thrown haphazardly out so that it was touching the lump under the blankets on the other side of the bed, and his other hand just barely clutching a brown, notorious-looking bottle before his fingers relaxed their hold on the bottle, making it drop with a loud clack on the wood floor outside of the bed.

The noise of the glass hitting the ground seemed to rouse the shape on the other end of the bed under the blankets.

A small hand reached up and out of the blankets to push them off of her face. A woman with a pale face, hazy brown eyes, and curly black hair came out of the top of the blankets with a yawn. She looked over at the shape of the man on the other end of the bed, and smiled. She moved closer to him, propping her neck on her hand as she looked down at him.

"Mr. Dugan… Jimmy Dugan…" She purred, rubbing her hand across his bare chest. "Your fan wants to speak to you…"

Jimmy only grunted and swatted at her hand. She didn't seem deterred. "That was quite a performance last night." No answer. She paused for a moment.

"I mean, I've been a fan since you first started playing, and doing what I did last night with you was like sleeping with hero-"

He farted loudly, grunted in an annoyed way, and rolled away from her.

The girl gave him a shocked look before sitting up on the bed on her knees. "Jimmy, wake up right now and look at me!"

Jimmy groaned softly. "Irene… Irene, please shut up and let me-."

"My name's Monica!" She screeched.

Jimmy made a soft noise of sleepy disbelief. "Really?... Oh, o.k, sorry, Maria-."

"It's MONICA!" The girl cried out.

Jimmy snorted. "Okay, Okay, you don't have to get up on your high horse about it. Is there any chance of you leaving before you throw a hissy fit and make me get up, because I'm rather comfortable here…"

Monica screeched angrily, jumping off of the other side of the bed. "YOU'RE comfortable?! Why don't you show the girl you professed your love to last night a little bit of affection instead of… of snoring… and, and, caring more about sleeping than me…"

Jimmy was quiet for a long moment, but he quickly bolted up in the bed, looking at Monica with wide eyes. "Wait- what did I do and say last night!?"

Monica looked at him as though she were about to cry, run off, or start screaming at him. "You professed you love to me, and-."

Jimmy sighed in relief. "Oh, good. Second time I got married, it was because we got hitched in Vegas when I had one too many drinks in me…" He sighed again, smiled, and rolled back on the bed onto his side.

Monica gave a shocked cry. "MARRIED? You've been married?!"

"Twice." Jimmy grunted.

Monica looked at his bare back, tears forming in her eyes. "You lied to me?! I hate you!" she wailed. When Jimmy didn't respond, she began to throw her clothes on, tramping to the bedroom door. She stopped at the door. "I can't believe you'd do this- you were my childhood hero, and you lied to me."

Jimmy gave a short bark of laughter.

"Well, welcome to the real world, sweet heart." He grunted again and pulled a pillow over his head. It turned out to be a good move, since it muffled Monica's angered screeching and most of the sound of her stomping out the door, down the stairs, and out the front door. When she was finally gone, Jimmy couldn't help but think about how it seemed as though the women he had been picking up lately were getting more and more emotional.

He somehow managed to doze back off for ten minutes before the rotary phone in the hallway started to ring loudly. He grunted and tried to pull the pillow closer to his head before realizing, twenty painful seconds later, that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, even if the bastard phone just stopped ringing.

Stomping out of bed fully nude, Jimmy made his way into the white-carpeted hallway outside of his room before reaching the phone. By the time he had the little black knob used for speaking into in front of his mouth, and the huge stand pressed against his ear, Jimmy was grumpier than a vampire with a day job.

"HellOOOO?!" Jimmy barked into the phone. He winced as soon as he did it. Ow, he forgot about how hung over he was.

"I… um…" A woman operator's voice began, obviously shocked to hear such an angry greeting. "You have a call from a Mr-."

"Whoever this mister is, tell him he can go take a flying fuck off to the moon- don't you people know that it's…" Jimmy started to look around frantically until his eyes connected with the wall clock near him. When he saw the time, his mouth dropped open. "Eight in the morning! Don't any of you people know better than to call a man in his place of- of- of residence at eight in the morning?!"

The woman seemed temporarily taken aback. "Sir, if you don't mind me saying, this is most definitely a call you _want _to take-"

"How is it important?" Jimmy interrupted. "Lemme guess- did whoever it was that used to hire you to work at a brothel call you with an offer for your old job back in return for annoying the HELL out of me?!"

There was a shocked silence, then the woman spoke again in an angry voice. "Okay, fine, I'll tell Mr. WALTER HARVEY he can go take a flying fuck to the moon. Have a lovely morning, Mr. Dugan…" It took a few moments for the annoying operator's words to register in Jimmy's brain- but when they did, he panicked.

"Uh, now, see here-."

"Have a nice day, Mr. Dugan."

"Okay," Jimmy shouted. "Okay, I'M SORRY!"

Jimmy waited for a long, long moment, half wondering if the woman had hung up before the operator spoke again.

"Alright. Hold please."

As soon as Jimmy heard the audible clack of him being put on hold, Jimmy felt as though he was able to breath again.

As he waited, Jimmy turned to look at the mirror that was positioned on the wall behind him. He was feeling a bit anxious now, and the sight of his slightly thinning hair, his bloodshot, muddy green-brown eyes, and his unshaven, slightly bearded face made him suddenly much more self conscious than he had been moments before. He was a _mess._

"Jimmy, ya there?" A crackling, old voice asked. Jimmy had to stop himself from wanting to yell, "You're goddamn right this is Jimmy!", but he remembered at least something reminiscent of decency moments before he could paint himself up to be the drunken hillbilly that everyone always said he was.

"Um, this is he." Jimmy said. He was still turned around to face the mirror- and was now feeling even sicker when he finally remembered that the mirror was, in fact, a full-length mirror. _God; do I really look that much like a huge lump of dough?!_

"Oh good- I know this is short notice, but couldja make it to Chicago in two days?" Jimmy blinked blearily, grateful for the momentary ability to tear his gaze from the top of his own receding hairline and to his stubby toes.

"I _live _in Chicago." He said, and for the first moment, he could almost smell the scent of sure-fire money in the conversation he was engaged in. It worked better on him than any cup of coffee could for his sobriety and focus.

"Ya do? Where?"

"Uh... It's not a big-."

"Where do ya live in the city?"

Jimmy swallowed a wad of spit that wasn't there as his eyes went from the frame of the ugly full-length mirror to the small window hanging over the stairs. The sun was shining in its cheery, ain't-it-swell-to-be-alive, way. "I still live in that house on March Avenue."

"THAT dump?! You still live _there_?" There was a short silence in which Jimmy was sure that he was contemplating ol' Jimmy Dugan's poor choice in living arrangements. When Walter spoke again, he only did so after clearing his throat loudly. "Well, just make sure you make it to the stadium with _my _name on it by noon."

"Uh... sir- Mr. Harvey?"

Walter sighed. "What is it, Jimmy?"

"Might I ask why-."

"Don't worry, Jimmy; you'll get your answers soon enough. 'Till then, do me a favor and get a shower, a shave, and a decent-looking haircut before you come."

"Uh-."

"Good-bye, Jimmy."--

Dottie was in that place on the baseball diamond where she felt most comfortable; wearing a protective mask with black wire criss-crossing the front, a huge, padded glove on her right hand, and a nervous-looking, twitty woman holding a bat with her back facing her in front of her. And the woman had a right to be nervous, since Dottie had just given the blond-haired pitcher the signal to give the batter a curve ball with enough oomph in it to knock her off her ass.

Dottie smiled.

Near the beginning of the game, she had been dreading playing a game this important against her younger sister, but she was now shocked to discover that she was having fun. She didn't have another chance to reflect, however, since the blond, almost coldly indifferent pitcher had thrown herself backwards, and had launched her entire body into one huge, lurching throw at the batter.

Dottie could have sworn that the batter gave a shocked yell before she dove to the ground. She dropped her bat, and cowered on the ground, her hands covering her head. Dottie caught the misguided curve ball effortlessly.

As she caught the ball, she heard a series of murmurs from behind her. Curious, Dottie looked up behind her. A quick glance allowed her to see the small group that was totally comprised of men. All but three were wearing stuffy-looking suits, and the other three were wearing casual clothing. Some of the men were whispering amongst themselves, and others were jotting down words with pencils on clipboards balanced on their knees.

She quickly turned back to the diamond after she was satisfied with a quick look. "Foul!" she shouted.

The field was now full of women who were rolling their eyes or sniggering behind delicate hands- even the girls on the other team. The poor girl who was crouched on the ground stood up, allowing Dottie to see the red tint that her face had turned before she turned away from her. As she turned away from Dottie, Dottie noticed how her blond pitcher, who had been pretty much leering at the batter, was now looking at her as though she was disgusted. It took Dottie having to hear the batter sobbing loudly before she realized that the girl was crying.

"I-I can't do this!" she cried out.

The sound of a woman running out from the dug-out was accented by another woman yelling. "Theresa?! THERESA!"

The batter (Theresa?) turned to look in the direction of the yelling woman. The eyeliner she had on was now a mess that came from her eyes and down to her chin.

"Anna!" The crying girl wailed, arms extended to her. Anna ran halfway up to her before she gave Anna and the players gawking at her an awkward, I'm-sorry-this-is-happening look. After a moment, she blushed, and walked up to Theresa. Within moments, Theresa had her arms wrapped around Anna. It took Dottie a moment to see that the two women looked very alike- in fact, they could be sisters.

The two began whispering in each other's ears, then they stared at each other for a long moment.

"Alright." Anna mouthed. Theresa looked happy at Anna's reaction, and gave Anna a nervous, timid smile. Theresa leaned against Anna, and they both walked to the stadium's exit before disappearing from view.

It was Doris who finally spoke up. "Hey, can we get back to the game, or are we gonna have someone else who's gonna have a breakdown and go crying home?" Even though Dottie felt a little sympathetic to the girl who walked out with her friend or sister, she couldn't help the small smile on her lips. Nobody on the field moved from their spot. Dottie finally had to speak up. "Okay, Okay, let's get the next batter u-."

The sight of Anna walking back onto the diamond made everything stop abruptly. Doris looked as though she was ready to speak for everyone on the baseball diamond, but a voice, coming from behind Dottie, spoke up for her.

"Why aren't you joining your sister, Ms... Anna Summers?" It was one of the men in the stuffy suits, this on wearing glasses and speaking in a jittery sounding voice, as though he expected something unpleasant to happen. Anna was quiet for a moment, but she pulled a green baseball cap that she had been carrying sandwiched between her thin arm and her body onto her head.

"Because," She said gruffly. "I'm here to win."

To the girl's surprise, the players on the diamond erupted into a stream of applause, ending when a blushing Anna stalking to her spot back in the dug out.

After that small set back that came with Theresa Summers leaving in a flurry of tears, the game kicked off into an exciting beat that could be felt by every player on the field and in the dug out. Dottie found that, despite her belief that she was not in the least bit interested in the game, she was having fun. She was not the only one; almost everyone on the field was laughing each time they caught, chased after, or hit the ball.

With all of the would-be players enjoying themselves, none could see the looks of shock and disbelief written plainly on the men in the stand's faces. None could believe what they were seeing, since all, except those who had really seen a women's game, thought that they had been in for a game of giggling girls half-heartily throwing balls to each other and waving prettily up at them.

On the game field, however, the shared feeling was that of determination- Dottie's team got an amazing lead, then almost as soon as the bereaved boy in charge of the scoreboard who had thought that this game would be simpler and easier than a "normal" game would put the new numbers up, the other team would lead by another, just as huge score.

As for Dottie, she had slipped just as easily into the role of temporary coach as if she had been somehow training her whole life to take on the role.

"You, you, you!" she yelled, snapping her fingers at three different girls. "Work the outfield, and I want to see some catching and running, you, work third base, and you, take over for Ellen, the pitcher; she needs to rest her arm." She then turned to look at Jaime, a brunette who looked as though she was sweating off buckets. "If you can't catch the damn ball, then please just move to the back right part of the field!" As though to accent each word she said, Dottie smack her knuckled hand against the cement wall in their dug-out.

All of the girls on the team nodded and made their way out of the dug-out, leaving Dottie behind. Dottie waited for the last member of their rag-tag team to leave before she cradled her right fist to her chest and winced.

"Ow, I won't be doing that again." she moaned, grimacing.

With only moments away from the end of the game, Dottie should have been partially relieved by the fact that she was soon going to be freed from the worry of having to lead the women. Surprisingly, she was startled to feel as though the eagerness and the desire to win the game that was shared by everyone else in the stadium except her at the beginning of the game was starting to seep into her psyche. She was now on edge and staring at the scoreboard more often than if she was just playing the game to please Kit.

All that was left of the game was one more inning. They were just barely clinging to their lead by three points, and it wouldn't take that much for the other team to topple them. Dottie told herself that she would just do her best, and whatever would happen, it wouldn't be because of anything she did. Per say.

But, that all changed after the other team quickly lost two of their batters- and after, by some miracle, left Dottie's team with its tenuous point lead.

Dottie couldn't help but notice all of the players out in the field were all smiles- they, too, could probably feel the excitement of the prospect of winning in front of all of those rich men who were watching them from the stands. The feeling, to Dottie, was just as good a feeling as though she had gulped a bottle of beer back home.

"C'mon, next batter up!" she cried, hitting her heavily padded, mitted hand with her other fist. Dottie's slightly cocky smile faded when she saw the shape of the person striding up to home base.

Kit.

Dottie felt a sickening twist in her stomach. All that would end this game would be one more out for Kit's team. And, by the looks of things, this could either be a chance for Kit to shine by narrowly allowing her team to win, or Dottie's team could shine.

_Well, even if that is so, I don't have any control over which team wins now. Unless..._

Even as she allowed herself to believe that Kit wouldn't do what Dottie knew she was capable of doing, Kit showed her with her stance that she was getting ready to do it.

"Goddamn it." Dottie hissed. Kit was holding the bat as though she was readying a club- it was clear body language that she was amped up for a high hit. It would be appropriate- Dottie had been seeing Kit bragging since the last inning with the other members of her team. Damn, she had probably saying stuff about how her sister was the umpire, and would probably let her win.

Well, she had come here for Kit, so it'd be a simple thing to just allow the pitcher to throw a high one- and let Kit's team win...

Even as she decided on it hesitantly, her eyes went to the excited, yet exhausted faces of the girls who had put their trusts in her. They came here with the same ambitions as Kit- who's to say that they deserved to get short-shafted, either?

Dottie gulped. Whether she liked it or not, she currently had the outcome of the game resting heavily on her shoulders, and only because of how over-zealous she knew that her sister was when it came to showmanship. At any rate, whatever she chose was going to make her feel like burying her head in the dirt of the diamond.

She finally made her decision, making curt motions with her hand to the dark-haired pitcher for the inning. The girl nodded, and threw herself back into a pitch.

Kit swung her bat high at the same time that the ball passed by her. Dottie felt almost remorseful when she reached out and grabbed onto the speeding ball.

"Strike one!" She shouted.

Kit was frozen in place with her bat resting on the dirt. She then turned around to face Dottie, an accusing look on her face. Dottie chose to ignore it.

She tossed the ball back to the pitcher, and she felt thankful when Kit turned back to face the pitcher.

Kit's next swings weren't any more fruitful. "Strike two. Strike three, you're out!"

The baseball diamond became an explosion of cheers as everyone rounded on the pitcher, picking her up and cheering her name. Dottie went to go join her rejoicing temporary team, but as she passed by Kit, she heard Kit speaking a a quiet, angry voice.

"Thanks for nothin'!" she snarled. Dottie was taken aback at first, but she put on a fake smile and spoke to Kit in a much louder, cheerier tone of voice.

"Why, you're welcome, sis."--


	7. I'm A Peach Revised

**Chapter 7- "I'm A Peach!" Revised**

**Author's Note:** It's been a long, long time since I updated this story- so I hope you'll all forgive me, and enjoy this chapter.

O.k, well, from this point on, I'll have to start digging through IMDb & the official AAGPBL website to get all of the facts right- so I give my heartfelt thanks to both websites. So, yes, I'm trying my hardest to be as historically- and also movie- correct as I can be. I hope this shines through, even in the storyline. So, enough babbling; this one's for all of you.

--Mad Red Queen

l--l

* * *

After the game, the mood in the field had changed dramatically. The "winning" team had learned, with dismay, that the "game" had just been a warm-up. The girls who had been on the "losing" team were practically glowing with shared glee, and by the time Dottie had to hear Kit say, "How's that trophy of yours?" for the millionth time, she was so close to punching her sister out that it wasn't even funny.

They all found out exactly what the men had planned for them by "practice"- running up and down the field as hard and as fast as they could, switching to running from bases to bases, then having to hit ball after ball from an automatic pitching machine, getting graded by the swarms of men in baseball uniforms who were jotting down notes on clipboards and who were telling the individual or groups of girls what they wanted them to do next. It was an endlessly tiring task- and one that was already taking its toll on Kit.

Not that Dottie had even a free moment to glance over at her struggling sister; she found it hard enough to pay attention to every thing she was being told to do, one after another until the grass beneath her was turning into a blurry green.

And then, just when Dottie thought that she was going to have to beg the man grading her for a break, a loud whistle sounded from the center of the field, and a voice, helped by a large megaphone, yelled, "ALL GIRLS TO THE CENTER OF THE FIELD!"

And so, Dottie reunited with Kit again, beginning to forgive her for her earlier test of Dottie's short fuse on anger and understanding. Without meaning to, they gravitated around Mae, Doris, and Marla.

"What now, what now?" Doris asked when the five of them grouped together.

"Search me." Dottie answered back.

All of the girls looked around- only to find the men who had been grading them gone from the field, leaving them to their own devices. Which left many girls scratching their heads and worrying.

"Is it proper for us to be doin' something?" One girl asked one of her friends.

"I don't really know, Marge." Her friend replied, sounding equally nervous.

Dottie's group all apparently decided that it was a good a time as any to rest, so, despite Mae's voiced worry over grass stains, they all settled into the grass, lying on their backs and staring up at the sky.

"So- where are you's two from? I heard it was Oregon." The question came from Doris.

The question was obviously for Dottie and Kit.

"You heard right." Dottie replied, smirking a little.

"Ooohh, _farm girls_." It was Mae this time. She had been tossing a ball up and down in her hand, never once letting it hit the ground- or her pretty face. Kit sounded surprised.

"How'd you guys know?" She asked, still looking up at the sky.

Mae laughed. "Oh, come on; everyone in Oregon farms."

Kit was quiet for a long moment, then, she spoke, sounding almost in a pout. "Not everyone in Oregon farms..."

Everyone was quiet for a long moment- listening to the noise of some, perhaps over-achieving girls who were tossing balls to each other and running some more, other girls laughing and chatting, and the faintest sound of traffic outside of the field. Dottie's group was looking up at the sky above them, lost amidst their own little world of fears, dreams, and anxiety. Finally, a voice broke their silence, sounding dead serious.

"Well, only ninety-five of Oregon folk are farmers. I swear that is an accurate number." Dottie said solemnly, her eyes shut.

Everyone, except Kit, broke into laughter- but not really because of WHAT Dottie said, but mostly out of a desperate desire for the nervous tension in the group to be broken. After their laughter, mostly wooden-sounding, ended, Mae spoke up. "Look girls, I-I-I dunno if we're all gonna get on these teams- but I'd just like to say... well... good luck."

"Oh me, oh myyyyy," Doris said with a slight edge of taunt in it. "Stop all production, ladies, Mae's bein' serious now."

"H-hey, stop it, I AM bein' serious!" Mae said, annoyed when the girls around her laughed.

Everyone stopped suddenly, with Kit coughing nervously. After a moment, Mae sighed a deep, tired sigh, and spoke. "Look, I don't know if any of us'll end up on the same team- or, or even get to be a part of all of this, but I just wanted you all to know that I usually don't get along with other girls, but I wouldn't mind, maybe talking to you girls somewhere else down the road if we don't end up on the same team."

"Aw, that's sweet..."

"Well, geez, thanks for making me paranoid..."

"I'm sure we can talk to each other after this is all done!"

"Yeah, right, smarty- how would you make sure of THAT?"

They were all so wrapped up in talking that they didn't notice the sound level in the field drop, and they certainly didn't notice the man in uniform walking onto the field with a megaphone in hand. "ALL GIRLS FRONT AND CENTER- NOW!"

The calm women who had been lying on the ground all struggled up amidst yelps, and began to scramble to become a part of the mob of girls who were all standing in front of the man with the megaphone.

As they found places to stand in the group (Dottie and Kit just became a part in the middle, Doris and Mae fought, kicked, and elbowed their way to the front, and Marla shrunk to the back), they waited, breathless, as the man strode up and down their line of vision, watching the women all become the large mob. When he looked satisfied, he grinned, and pointed at a board made of cork that was set near the stands. On it were four sheets of paper with words neatly written on them.

"Go find your teams." He said with a smile.

The rush was unbelievable. Dottie and Kit got pushed, shoved, elbowed, and finally generally kicked out of the way of the mob, and left to stand behind the mob for a split second. Dottie quickly recovered, however, and made her way through the pack of excited girls, her eyes scanning through the different teams; Rockford, Racine, Kenosha, South B-

Suddenly, it hit Dottie that she recognized her name on the very first list she had looked over.

Under the title of "The Rockford Peaches", Dottie dug past names like Shirley Baker, Helen Haley, and Evelyn Gardener before she saw that name. That ONE name that made her face break apart into a grin. But, before she was even close to celebrating her personal victory, her eyes went through that whole list a second time. And as she did it, she felt as though everything in her was soaring.

She scrambled out of the crowd, passing Kit along the way, and dug away from her after she decided against telling her the good news- realizing that Kit would prefer finding out for herself.

As she passed the last eager-faced girl, she immediately looked for a familiar face to anchor onto. She found Marla Hooch's, and she couldn't stop smiling. Marla locked her eyes on her, and made a scramble over to her side. When she spoke, she appeared to have trouble working her vocal cords correctly.

"I-I- uh... uhm... uhhhh... Y'didn't um... i-i-it's okay if you didn't, y'know... but... did you see my name anywhere?"

Dottie's face looked solemn. "Well... if you mean do I know what'll happen to you, then yes."

Marla's eyes nearly bulged out. "What's gonna happen to me?"

"Well-"

"I'm gonna have to find a way home- and, and daddy, he-"

"I looked and looked all over those papers for our names-"

"-trusted me, and, and I can't even-"

"And I found mine first, of course, then I looked for-"

"-do anything right, because I- I'm ugly, and, and no man would-

"Kit's, Mae's, Doris'- and yours-"

"-EVER want to marry an ugly woman, because, because he wouldn't want his children to be ugly and, and-"

"-And all five of us are going to be Rockford Peaches."

"-untalented, and... and..."

All of a sudden, all of that power and loudness in her voice dropped, and Marla spoke in the faintest of whispers. "I-...they chose ME?"

Dottie nodded, a smile on her lips. Marla looked at her, her eyes huge and wet. "Thank you." she said, her voice still a whisper, but full of gratitude.

Dottie gave her a look that seemed to say, _are you kidding me?, _and said, "Hey, I wasn't the one who put that up there."

Marla's lips turned up a little- it was the closest thing to a smile that Dottie had ever seen her have on her face. She stopped looking at Dottie abruptly, however, and looked over to the board. "But- I saw you pass your sister up back there- why didn't you tell her before she had to push past all of those other girls?"

Dottie laughed. "YOU don't know my sister like I do- and trust me, this kind of thing, she'll want to see it for herself instead of being told it. Y'know- for "shock value"?"

No sooner than Dottie stopped talking about her eager sister than the girl herself came caterwauling out of the crowd, launching herself at Dottie, who, not noticing her cries of, "I'M A PEACH!" didn't have enough time to catch her sister. As a result, she ended up falling backwards with an _oof_, her arms spread out like wings.

"I made it; I'm a Peach- I can stay!" Kit cried, reaching down to hug her sister while wearing the widest grin Dottie had ever seen on her. Dottie laughed- she couldn't help it.

And, despite the fact that she would always deny her happiness for the game, Dottie felt so happy at that moment because of the turn of events that she felt near invincible in her state of happiness. She almost felt like she could feel like this forever- smooshed under her celebrating sister, her ears processing the sound of a hundred plus girls either celebrating themselves or walking away quietly, and with Marla looking down at the two of them wearing a mixture of happiness and surprise- probably more at Kit's crash landing than the fact that their little group from earlier wouldn't be dissolving.


	8. Five Days Of Utter Charm Revised

**Chapter 8- Five Days Of Utter Charm Revised**

One by one, the four teams found their fellow teammates, and as was expected, they welcomed each other with open arms, finding places to sit on the grass next to each other. Finally, all of the members of the teams were united, and the talking seemed to grow to a complete, undecipherable buzz. When the over-weight man wearing a white baseball uniform with the emblem of a bell on the shirt and on his cap stepped in front of them, all of the girls, however, quieted down.

"Hey, there's no need for the awkward silence- my name's Charlie Collins, and I'll be coachin' the Racine Belles," He got an answering cheer from his team of girls, and some silence from the other three teams. "Now, I'm gonna be explainin'-" He suddenly stopped, and all of the girls saw why.

A brunette, pacing back and forth in front of the board with all of teams on it, had not sat down with her team- or left the field.

"Hey, ma'am?" Coach Collins said. "Are you lost? Are you supposed to be here?"

The girl turned to look back at him. Her brown eyes were watery, like a frightened doe's, and her lips were trembling. She looked near tears. "N-No..."

"Well, can you see your name on one of those lists? Your name should be one of those lists; under Rockford, Racine, Kenosha, or South Bend..."

As he trailed off near the end, a girl from the Rockford group ran up to her side. Nobody could hear what they were whispering, but they watched as the Peach dragged her finger through the first list of names, which, as Dottie recognized, was the Rockford Peach list. Only a few names into it, the girl abruptly stopped, the spoke, smiling, to the other girl, loudly enough for all of the girls to hear.

"This is you, Shirley Baker. You're one of us; you're a Peach."

The other woman, Shirley, looked so happy she could cry.

She looked over to Coach Collins anxiously, and he, smiling, said, "Go join your team."

As Shirley sat next to her new friend with the Peaches, she was applauded briefly by all of the girls- most of which were most vigorously clapped on by the Peaches. As soon as they were content to stop, Coach Collins continued talking.

"O.K, I guess we can begin on a good note; here's a model from "Lady's Weekly" wearing your new, League-approved, softball uniforms- pretty nifty, if you ask me."

Walking above them on the pathway through the stands, a strawberry blond beauty, smiling ear-to-ear, holding a ridiculously small wood bat, but most of all wearing a strange uniform that looked as though it had been created with the sole purpose of chauvinism in mind strutted through the stands, giggling slightly and pretending to swing her bat half-heartedly. She ended by bending over slightly, then pressing her fingers against her red-lipsticked lips as if to say, _oopsie!_

The backlash was quite immediate. "Hey, excuse me, that's not a uniform- that's a _dress!"_

"I can't wear that- my husband'll kill me!"

"Hey, hey, are you kiddin' me?!"

So deep in their outrage, none of the girls seemed to notice the bespectacled, suit-wearing man who had walked onto the field to stand next to Coach Collins.

"Excuse me, excuse me!" He yelled. When it didn't appear to get everyone's attention, he sighed, shut his eyes, then yelled, "HEY!"

Everyone stopped talking to stare at him from their sitting positions, their outrage making the area around them a boiling pot of rising emotions. Most of which were experiencing shock and anger.

"This is the approved uniform- if you're not willing to play in this, then you're not going to play ball with us. Anyone not willing to wear this can walk away now, and I guarantee there won't be any tears shed. Right now there are girls out there who're willing to play in a bathing suit if I asked them to." As expected, no woman stood up and walked off. He sighed once more, and continued. "Now, I don't see what the problem is with this particular uniform-"

Mae interrupted him, laughing. "Well, for starters, there's no pockets for my cigarettes." A few women giggled at this.

The man smiled. "Ah- well, no players will be permitted to smoke, so-" The backlash he got from this was worse than the one the women gave for the uniform, their voices melding together into an angry buzzing. Until finally, one girl from one of the other teams spoke up.

"What _else _are we banned from doing? I mean, what's next- are you gonna stop us from throwing overhand while pitching?"

"Actually," The man said, smiling. "Since this is softball, there are different rules than the ones you were playing with- the ball size is going to be increased, and pitching will only be done underhand." There was a shocked feeling of outrage from just about every woman on the field.

"Hey- excuse me," Another girl on yet another team said. "But no overhand means that I won't be able to throw the ball as hard as I can!"

"Well, yes," The man said, finally starting to look uncomfortable. "We can't have women's _baseball, _heavens, no! Men's ball, you understand, is much more dangerous than the sport of softball, and we can't have you ladies' endangering yourselves when we can make the game more user-friendly."

The voices of many outraged women could be heard talking to each other, angry, shocked, and generally not happy. Finally, another Peach that Dottie didn't recognize stood up and spoke.

"Well, Mr. We-Don't-Want-To-Endanger-Your-Lives, did you know that most of us have gotten injured in one way or another by playing baseball, but we're here, aren't we? And, just so we're clear, are there any other rules we should know?"

The crowds were filled with the agreeing murmurs of fellow new women players. But, the suited man seemed able to brush it off just as quickly as they could hurl their questions as though he, too, was an experienced baseball player- but he played not on a physical field, but in a field made up of pure willpower and intellect.

"Ah, how good of you to ask," he said, soundly absolutely happy. "There will also be no drinking, no men, and no fraternizing with the members of other teams."

The buzzing seemed to grow and swell, and from behind Dottie, Mae, red-faced, started to stand up- that is, until Doris grabbed onto her arm, and dragged her back down, mouthing the word _no _to her. Mae glared at her, but sighed and sat back down with a crossed look on her face. As the angry voices continued to talk to each other, it was Kit this time who spoke up.

"Hey- just what do you want us to be- ballerinas? Ladies?"

If his smile could get any bigger, it did then. "Yes, in fact- every woman will also be required to attend Charm school classes- and an instructor will be on the road with you on every leg of your rides to instruct all of you on the ways of being a proper woman... as well as still being a good player."

Kit spoke up again, angry. "So, you expect us to be _ladies?" _

"Why, yes- every player here will be a lady."--

It was with those very words that all of the players on every team ended up shacked in a local place called The Richmond Boarding House for five days, and ended up, grudgingly, attending a Charm school for each of those five days. In the room Dottie was in, she lived with Kit, and one other Peach named Ellen Sue Gotlander- who, as Dottie was happy to recognize- was the same blond who had been her pitcher for the mock game when they had all met. The blond was actually a lot less cold emotionally than she appeared to in the game, and Dottie and Kit got along well with her during the five days they spent together.

On the last day, Dottie, Kit, and Ellen were woke up the same way they had been for the last 4 days. The black phone in their room rang, and rang, and rang until finally Kit reached one arm out of her bed and grabbed the phone.

"Good morning, room one o' four." A female voice said. "I hope you find your day to be a lovely one-"

"Yeah," Kit snapped, rubbing at her puffy, red eyes. "And pigs might fly too, huh?" She hung the phone up, and, placing the phone back on the small table, fell back into bed. There was a long, long silence, then the voice of Ellen broke the silence.

"Well, we have to get up..." she muttered, her own eyes still shut.

"Shoot," Kit said, burying her face further into the quilt she was sleeping with. "I used to wake up earlier than this sometimes on the farm- but farm work was more fun than charm school!"

With everyone unwilling to get up, Dottie guessed that it was her time to be the first to step up to the plate on this one. Feeling as though her body was made of lead, Dottie slouched her way out of bed, her eyes drooping shut. She shuffled over to the small room adjacent to their shared sleeping space and walked up to the sink. As she began to let her eyes droop open slowly, she saw the clear image of her own beastly, exhausted, bedraggled visage in the mirror. Groaning , she reached behind her huge mess of rusty-red hair to try to pull the tie she had used to hold her hair as she slept out. The pain it brought through attempting to yank it out without rending her hair effectively from her tenderized scalp was more of a shock and wakening than a mouthful of hot coffee could ever be. She bit hard into her lower lip to stop herself from crying out as she yanked, yanked, and yanked until the evil tie she had used last night under the assumption that it would keep her hair neat out of her mess of red hair.

The next time she looked into the mirror, panting hard from the excruciating pain she had just endured, her now wide-awake eyes saw a pale faced girl looking back at her through the reflective surface. And the girl, to her dismay, looked as though she belonged in an insane asylum than the real world.

The dark smudges under her eyes matched well with the eye bags they seemed to accentuate, and the eye bags, in turn, seemed to compliment the paled tint of her skin. She looked like she ought to be in some federal building, stuffed into a blue hospital johnny.

Despaired, Dottie still went along with the process of making herself look at least decent enough so that the charm school marm wouldn't have anything to bark at her appearance-wise that day. She first brushed her teeth, then glared up at the (she was more than certain) pulsing red mass on top of her hair that had grown a mind of its own overnight when she rolled over onto her sides- and had decided to rebel. It took her a little while before she could tempt herself into trying to make the hair on her head start to not look as though it was inhabited by a family of particularly nasty rats.

About five minutes (and a lot of pain and suffering later) and Dottie's hair was beginning to look more like normal hair. But, she had decided to take a break to work, instead, on her eyeliner, lipstick, and blush. She muttered angrily to herself when she realized she had applied too much blush, making her cheeks look like neon lights. But it wasn't all her fault; back home, the only make-up she used was eyeliner and lipstick for when she wanted to leave an impression. Which wasn't very often.

After she finished with that, she attempted to tame the jungle of fire atop her head once again, and finished awhile later, in pain, but otherwise finally happy with how her hair looked. Afterwards, she left the bathroom after using the toilet, and began to pull together a wardrobe using some of the clothing that she, Kit, and Ellen got during the second day of Charm school. Some girls would consider it a perk- but most girls, who've never worn high-heels, been forced to apply much make-up, or to learn lady-like etiquette, it was one of the worst weeks in memory- especially since every girl was eager to start playing ball for real, not just practice broken up by long stretches of time being forced to walk, "gracefully, and grandly" everywhere in the charm school.

After Dottie finished with slipping into a red and pink floral patterned dress, she turned around to face the two beds that Ellen and Kit were asleep in, and saw her sister shaking her head groggily, sitting up in the bed. "What's wrong? Did something happen- is an animal sick?"

Dottie smiled. "No, but speaking of sickening, you need to go clean up and get dressed."

Kit's eyes opened weakly, and upon seeing her surroundings, she groaned. "I thought I was back on the _farm_!"

"I thought you wanted to be _here_." Dottie said, making herself useful by putting out a dress that was Kit's size on the foot of her own bed before rolling her eyes and getting on her hands an knees to search under her bed. Kit watched her with slowly re-focusing eyes as she began to get to her feet.

"Of course I want to be here," she said, still watching Dottie. "But, I-I-I-" she trailed off, looking at Dottie, at an apparent loss for words. "What ARE you looking for?"

Dottie was pushing her suitcase out from under the bed, grunting. "High heels." She spat, never stopping her rooting through the pile of dirty clothes under her bed.

"Huh?"

"High heels- _my_ high heels! I can't find 'em!"

"Oh." Kit said, her lips twisting in confusion. "Sorry, I can't keep a thought in my head straight-"

"Well," Dottie said, throwing another dirty dress out of her way. "You can do something else productive instead of thinking, y'know- like, helping me, or brushing your teeth..." She stopped speaking, then jumped off of the ground, smiling and holding a pair of dark red high heels. "YES! YES! I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I FOUND 'EM!"

Her cries of victory seemed to do the trick in rousing Ellen, who woke up with a gasp, apparently not expecting to be woken up to one of her roommates jumping around and yelling. Kit, now wide awake and looking nothing less than ornery, walked past Ellen, shutting the door behind her.

"What time is it?" Ellen asked after she recovered from being roused by Dottie. Her voice, with its thick southern accent, was all the more obvious in her sleepy voice.

"Six-thirty." Dottie said. Her face was still red from yelling, but she also had the decency to finally look embarrassed after her outburst.

"School starts at seven-thirty, right?"

"Mmm-hmmm."

"So- I have an hour to get ready?"

"It would appear so."

Helen paused, looking at Dottie before dropping her face back into her pillow, muttering, "I like those odds- wake me up in ten minutes."

Despite how hard it was to get both Kit and Helen ready to leave, Dottie managed to enjoy the first breath of morning air she breathed in upon walking outside on their way to the bus station. It was city air, and despite the deep pining she felt to be able to inhale the familiar scents of home- the light scent of flowers, the refreshing scent of dewy grass, and even the thick, heavy scent of cow manure, which she never believed that she would ever miss- were scents she felt empty without being able to inhale. She knew that Kit was homesick as well, but like hell if the girl was going to admit to a thing like missing home. She was too busy half-acting and half being truthful, about being enamored at the idea of citylife and with fantasies about her future life as a star ball player.

But, unlike Kit, Helen seemed to be openly bereft when the topic of her old home was brought up in the last four days.

They walked the four blocks to the bus station, and took seats on the bench as they waited for the bus. They were talking, this time about their thoughts on becoming Peaches.

"...I'm excited," Helen said, her unsureness showing through her pained expression. "But, _really_, no overhand? Why don't they just chop up my talent and feed it to the opposing teams?"

Kit nodded. "And did you see the balls they expect us to play with?! I swear, it's at least twice as big as a men's leaguer! Geez, I'm a ball player, not an idiot..."

"Oh," Helen said, paling. "I forgot about that- they might as well chop me up as well, then!"

While the two girls talked, Dottie leaned back on the bench, her eyes surveying the sky above them, silently wondering if her husband was in a safe enough place to be looking up at the same blue speck of sky that she was. Or at least thinking about that night the two of them had gone on their first date...--

Paul Keller hadn't actually known about the date his daughter and Robert Hinson had gone on- which was why Dottie had to leave for it by tip-toeing down the stairs, and sneak out the back door when she saw Bob pull up in his pick-up truck. When she ran into Bob's outstretched arms outside of his truck, Dottie felt victorious- and downright giddy at having gotten away with something that was just so, well, _not done_in their farming community. Despite what Kit always said about her being a goody two-shoes, she had been really wild as a teenager. At least, when Robert Hinson showed up in her life, she started to.

"Hey, babe," Bob said, lowering his face into her thick, at the time, long hair. "I tol' ya I was going to come here. Even if you're worried about your dad."

Dottie was silent, enjoying the simple act of inhaling the sweaty scent that came from a full day toiling in the hot day on a farm that came off of Bob. "Thank you." She whispered.

The rest of the night was wonderful; because Dottie was afraid of someone in town telling her father about her being with Bob in public, he had driven them deep into the country, out of town, and parked in the middle of a huge, empty piece of grassland.

They both went out to sit on the ground- but the second Bob wrapped an arm around Dottie's shoulders, she winced, and slapped at her neck. "Mosquito bit me." She explained after seeing the look he was giving her. Bob hesitated a moment, but then gave her a look that was pretty roguish for a farm boy. Dottie noted how strange the look her was giving her was, but she couldn't understand why he was looking at her like that- until her farmer boyfriend stood up and quickly plucked her up from the ground like some garden vegetable. Albeit a red-haired, struggling vegetable.

"Robert Hinson, put me back down right now, or I swear to god I'll never- yeeeeeekkk!" She spoke angrily to him- that is, until he bent down slightly and just barely touched the tips of his lips against her outraged own. That was all he did; simply caress with the lightest of touches with his lips against hers, but it was enough to make her yelling turn into a shocked squeak. When she seemed shocked enough to not talk, Bob spoke softly to her, his voice just barely a notch above whispering.

"I just wanted to get you out of the mosquitoes- we can sit in the truck until you're ready to go back home. I'm sure we can still look at the stars from the windows."

Dottie looked up at him with a bewildered look, and she finally spoke, her voice at a similar level to his. "Yeah, but... why are you carrying me?"

Bob was silent, carrying the tall red-head effortlessly in his arms in a way that was, to Dottie, very close to how a groom carries his bride over a threshold. The only sound other than their combined breathing (Oh, but she could feel his every breath come in and out of his lungs with each inflation and fall of his chest) was the sound of crickets and the occasional faraway sound of cars going by on the road that was quite a ways from where they were, beyond a large hill.

And then, Bob finally spoke, chuckling. "Why should I have a reason, babe? I just wanted to carry you like this, I guess. If you'd object, I'll put you down here, I don't want to do something to you that you don't like."

Dottie's mouth felt dry- incredibly, unspeakably dry- as she looked up into his face. His boyish, loving face. She didn't speak; she only tightened her hold against him, burying her face against his chest.

Bob carried her back into the truck, situating himself quickly before positioning Dottie so that she leaned against him on her side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Better?" He whispered.

Dottie didn't answer- for some reason, she felt as though speaking would ruin the moment. She only leaned over, kissed his cheek slightly (which brought one of those silly grins to Bob's lips, and- she couldn't believe it- but a slight dust of blush in almost the same spot she had kissed him) and nodded, smiling softly.

She turned with her back pressed solidly against him, and looked out the passenger's side window with eyes that were lazily shutting. Despite how content she looked, Dottie's mind was overworking, thinking about what had just happened- and how she wanted the man sitting next to her, propping her up, more than she had ever wanted anything else.

The stars outside of the glass separating them from the outside were bright and beautiful- and the moon was shining in that over-bright way that only a country moon could shine. The sky was an eerie blue color, almost as bright as day. The scents around Dottie- the smell of Bob's cologne, his sweat, and the slightly sweet scent of oil wrapped themselves around Dottie, making her feel engulfed in a strange world where her heart suddenly felt as though it was pumping harder than it ever had before, and where she felt ridiculously happy for no reason other than the fact that Bob was wrapping his arm around her, pulling her in closer to him...

"_What do you think, Dottie? _

_'Dottie? _

_'HEY, DOTTIE HINSON, I AM TALKING TO YOU!"_

Dottie was rudely snapped out of her memories with the sound of yelling. Next to her, both women that had been talking were staring at her, Helen looking genuinely worried, and Kit looking very much annoyed.

"What do you think about those ridiculous uniforms we have to wear?" Kit asked, her eyebrows slanted, pointing to the small bridge of her nose. Dottie drew a blank on this one for a moment, but caught onto what she was asking.

"I dunno. Seems pretty stupid to give us uniforms that'll expose our legs when we slide." She said, shrugging.

Helen looked over at her in disbelief before talking. "Are you kiddin'? My husband'll pull his hair out in clumps when he comes to watch me play! Aren't you worried about what your husband would think?"

Dottie stared at her for a moment, blinked, then started to laugh uncontrollably. Kit and Helen exchanged identical looks of worry. After her earlier moment in which she had stared off into the sky, they were both starting to worry about her. When Dottie finally spoke, it came as a relief to both women that Dottie wasn't cracking up or anything.

"Out of all of the things I can worry about when it comes to being in the league, worrying about what Bob'd say about the damned skirt's on my bottom of my list of worries. Besides," She let out a loud giggle, and she had to cup her hand over her mouth. "If you knew Bob, you'd know that he's probably love the uniform!"

Helen looked very surprised about this, and got ready to speak. "Your husband wouldn't-"

She was interrupted by the sound of the city bus pulling up to them, and of the door yanking open.


	9. The Last Day of School Revised

**Chapter 9- The Last Day of School Revised**

"AND glide... posture, girls, always remember posture!"

All of the members of the Rockford Peaches were "gliding" down the small set of steps while balancing heavy books on their heads. While they were partaking in this task, the other teams were busy with other seemingly pointless duties with their own instructors- which was how it had to be, since fraternizing between teams was just as forbidden as smoking and drinking.

The only time someone in the teams had strayed was when two girls, one from Kenosha, and the other from South Bend, were sitting together, giggling. One of the charm school instructors walked up and grabbed at one of the girls. The girl started yelling, "Hey, I'm not a little kid, so don't treat me like I'm in school!" The charm teacher then proceeded to angrily tell both girls that if either was caught talking to members from other teams again, she would personally tell Ira Lowenstein about their actions. It was the last time any of the girls would be caught talking to a member of another team.

Yeah, right.

The only thing that really changed from that moment was that you weren't likely to see two rival team members openly chatting. If a girl really wanted to talk, they would drop a handkerchief into the girl's lap that they wanted to talk to if she was sitting, or hand them the hand kerchief. If the other girl was willing to risk it, then they would meet in the woman's powder room, and hide in a stall, talking in hushed voices.

Dottie, who was striding down the stairs along with her team members, her hand up to her head to keep the book called, "Miss Nettleworth's Book Of Charm." on her head, never had done that action with another member of another team, though.

As the girls descended the stairs for, quite literally, the 30th time that morning, a few people were looking anxiously over at Marla from time to time, trying not to get caught staring. She was the only one of them that had earned the hatred of the charm school instructors from messing up on, quite literally, everything. She was walking much slower than the other girls, licking her lips nervously, her bulgy eyes as wide as they could go.

Finally, the instructor who had been watching them seemed pleased- as pleased as she could be. She stood up, clapping her heads together. "Ladies, ladies- let's move onto our next lesson before we serve breakfast."

All of the girls were eager to move to the table next to the instructor to plop their books into a neat pile, but they also felt like grumbling. They were all, after all, hungry- and the thought of another seemingly pointless task before eating caused the girls to all feel annoyed.

When they were out of earshot, following the instructor to the next place, Mae's voice could be heard talking loudly enough for the group of migrating girls to hear. "It's part of their plan, you know, to starve us. They'll starve us so that we'll do any damn thing they want us to do- I, I mean, come on, have any of you ever heard of the five different forks they made us learn about?! Where I come from, men don't care or ask if you know what the hell a salad fork is!"

As soon as they hit the area where many dining chairs were, however, no one dared to speak up. They all stood as perfectly as they could, waiting for the instructor to tell them to sit down in the chairs. The instructor turned to look at them, smiled a wide, incredibly fake grin, and then sat down in her own chair with the utmost care, being sure to position her right leg over her other.

"Do as I do, ladies- sit!"

The girls, all practically wanting to yell, _Quit treating me like a dog, you bitch, _nonetheless sat down meekly. This was one of the more simpler of tasks- it was even one thing that Marla could (usually) get right. That day, the girls, who were trying to inconspicuously watch Marla in hopes that she would do this task right again, felt relief when they watched as Marla, awkwardly but still doing it, sat down as she was supposed to, folding one leg over the other. The instructor, too, seemed to notice Marla's victory over her own nervousness and lack of coordination.

"Good, good, Miss Hooch!" The woman cried, clasping her hands together. Marla gave the instructor a shy look, and as soon as the instructor looked away, walking up the line of girls, she immediately reached to her backside and began to yank as hard as she could on the fabric, a harried, panicked look on her face. Many of the girls, including Kit and Doris, had to stop themselves from laughing.

Doris, however, couldn't stop herself from laughing. The instructor stopped mid-stride, and looked back at Doris questioningly. "Just WHAT, Ms. Murphy, is so funny?!"

Doris, unfazed, continued to laugh for a few more second, wiped tears out of one of her eyes, and spoke, the laughter still in her voice. "Oh, nothin', nothin'- I just love how you're convertin' some of us so well. Not an unladylike act in this whole fuckin' room."

The instructor seemed to be half baffled, and half angry at Doris' words. Her eyes tightened into slits. "Ms. Murphy, what is it you are insinuating?"

"Oh, nothing, nothin'. Let's go on, alright? I could use some breakfast already."

The instructor seemed adamant, for a moment, to get the truth out of Doris Murphy, but she eventually gave up, walking in the same direction she had been. As soon as she turned away, Marla began to tug at the fabric again, much more furiously.-

It was at that time of day in which the youth of noon was losing to night, still bright in the sky, but at any moment, the sky was bound to turn into a bright, colorful explosion- majestic purples, love inspiring pink, and a vibrant, bright gold. Instead of awaiting to admire the sunset that was due to come, the eight people on the green field were busy; running from point-to-point, playing catch with a softball, and whacking away at balls thrown from a scrounged-up automatic tosser.

It was the Peaches who were allowed in the field to practice, much to the relief of Ellen. She spent almost all of her time on field either throwing to anyone who was willing to practice their throwing as well, or tossing her ball on an empty expanse of grass, picking it up every time she threw it by herself. When it was almost sundown, she had managed to talk Kit into remaining as her catch partner. By the time they were done, they had worked themselves into a panting, sweating mess on the grass.

The other girls, other than Ellen, Kit, Dottie, and Marla were named Betty Horn, Evelyn Gardner, Alice Gaspers, and Helen Haley. All of the women got along great that night, not a one of them seemed to have any energy left in them when sunset came. When it became nightfall, they all laid on their back, and talked, staring up at the dark sky as the stars began to poke through the sea of vast darkness.

When they all returned to the boarding house, Dottie slunk down into the lobby with a sheet of her favorite stationary- and the last letter she had gotten from her husband tucked under her plain stationary.

She sat at the only desk in the small room, listening to the noise of the two clocks in the room tick and tock rhythmically. After only minutes into scratching the blank paper with a pencil, she had hit her usual brick wall.

It was always a strange experience to write the letters, Dottie always found. She began with a million things she wanted to tell Bob- anecdotes she wanted to tell from her daily experiences, news about her progression into this strange league with her sister, how she missed him- but she always felt as though she was somehow blocked during the beginning of writing these letters.

She sat there for a long while, pouring over Bob's last letter, looking for just one thing to anchor onto to get into the next sentence. She sat there, barely scratching the paper with her pencil, until she got to look up at the clock closest to her and saw that it was a quarter 'till midnight. Then, sighing, she pushed the folded-up letter into one of the many envelopes she had collected to use in her many letters, collected everything she had brought down with her into a neat little pile, and trudged up the two stories to her room.--


	10. Locker Room Jitters Revised

**Author's Note:** First and foremost... yes, I'm obviously not abandoning this. Anyone who still reads this- thanks for doing so, you don't know how much I appreciate that someone has the patience and sense of humor to read this. Also, anyone who's interested- which means, really no one- I failed NaNoWriMo about ten days ago... so... horray? So, that's where I've been... don't attempt to behead me, thinking that I've given up.

Well, I hope you like this- the "Jimmy" POV was, just like the previous one, hastily added on. I hope you can't really tell, and I hope it has the desired effect. Nothing like a drunken Jimmy to kick off my second tryst back into the fanfic arena this month!

Leave your seriousness at the door or pay the dire consequences,

--_**Mad Red Queen**_

**Chapter 10- Locker-Room Jitters Revised**

* * *

"Oh yeah, sure, Mr. Harvey." The grouchy man growled to himself as he pushed his unattractive body into the entirely too-tight baseball uniform. "I'd love to coach a team of baseball-" He stopped talking for a moment to pull his painfully tight cotton pants up his legs, grunting as he moved his bad leg in a way that hurt. "No, _softball... _players. Oh, wait, I didn't mean players- I meant _girls_!" He successfully lived through dressing himself only through muttering angrily to himself under his breath. When he finished dressing and putting his shoes on (a lot of struggling and grunting) he walked... stumbled, more appropriately, to the full-length mirror in the hallway. He was still very much hung over, so the walk, as short as it was, was nonetheless a hard thing to accomplish. He checked out his reflection for a moment, attempting to smooth down the creases in his pants. As he did, he thought over his new job- and for the first time since he had agreed to coach a team (he, himself didn't consider them athletes- after all, no girl knew how to do anything that required psychical labor- unless it was two-person tango in the bed) he gave serious thought to actually giving it his all in this job.

He paused, then opened his mouth as though ready to make an announcement of dire importance. Then, as his mouth opened, he had to wrap a shaking hand around his mouth and make a panicked run to the room nearby the full-length mirror. He was aiming for the toilet, but because of the way that the world had been rotating viciously, throwing everything around him all over the place, he found himself bent over the bathtub, expelling everything boiling in his guts all over his tub's drain.

He believed that he passed out, because when he came around, most of the mess he had spat up earlier was gone down the drain- and he heard the loud sound of a horn outside beeping.

Any other day, Jimmy would have ignored the noise and lowered his head back onto the ledge of the bathtub, taking a longer rest before attempting to stagger back to bed to sleep his inevitable hangover through. But as he dug up through heavy layers of sleep, he could remember that there was a taxi that was coming to pick him up to take him away for the duration of baseball season. He had planned to pack everything he needed the night before, but that had gotten in the way of what he had planned to be his last night of hard partying for the week. Instead, he found it better to just randomly throw things out from his closet and into his old backpack.

Yet the horn continued to blare its evil shrieking noise on the street in front of his run-down house.

Jimmy lied his head back down on the lip of the tub to enjoy a moment of silence. Because, god, his head only felt as though it was already being split open by a steel mallet- and that car, apparently deciding to find a will- and a way- to wake him up as rudely as possible, was just what his screaming mind needed when it was just barely sunrise.

He eventually gave up, lifting his head up off of the tub to yell to no real target in particular in completely unintelligible words. "Anaaouii grraawbrrr shaaa!" He had meant to say "Be right down!", but somewhere from the trip from his brain and to his tongue something went awry. Disasterously so.

Jimmy heaved himself to his feet and staggered out into the hallway. His legs came close to being uncooperative, but he duck-walked his way partially through the hallway, stopping finally in front of his full-length mirror. Any memory of him heaving his pudged body out of bed and pushing himself into his new softball uniform he couldn't recall- and when he first caught his own reflection in the mirror, simply thought that he had blacked out in his bathroom- yet again.

The sight of himself standing there in that strange uniform brought nothing but confusion for a few heartbeats- and it wasn't until he heard the sound of that taxi- that damned _taxi!- _that it hit him like some drunken fellow bar patron hitting him with a heavy bar stool that he recalled that he had a new job that he wasn't too thrilled about. Said job was waiting outside, and blowing a very obnoxious, loud horn at his tear-me-down of a house. Somehow, the thought of what he was going to have to do was a bit like a slap of cold water on his face.

Jimmy lurched his way through the hallway and through his bedroom door. Nearly. He thrust himself through the doorway, punching his shoulder past the threshold of the room- as though he was ramming his way through a door that wasn't there. Bad move.

He soon found himself very much close to falling over sideways on his house's smelly old carpet. Not a problem for a sober person (hell, even being as old and as crippled as he was), but drunk...

What should be known about Jimmy is that slapping cold water on his face has little to no effect on him, really- so even the news of what his new source of income was to be wasn't enough to get him near sober enough to navigate a pair of legs. One of which was bum to begin with.

When he did fall over onto the ground, he spent one long, long moment on the floor in which he groaned alot- and he had some real retrospective thought to the course his life was taking. Eventually, though, that dump-sucker horn blowing its merry way in front of Jimmy's house got him to climb his shaky way up to his feet- and into his closet to grab up his bag.--

The day was hot- stifling, in fact. In the baseball stadium in South Bend, people were, nonetheless, walking into the stands overlooking the field. The people filing in couldn't really be called a "crowd", with there being so few in amount people taking seats.

Meanwhile, down below the bleachers, the opposing team, known as The Rockford Peaches, were busy trying to halt panic attacks, get dressed without feeling self-conscious, or just talking with some of their newly found friends.

"Our first game!"

"I'm excited- are you excited?!"

"Well, I think they had better have enough bandages... my knees are gonna be _skinned!"_

Despite many wanting nothing better to do other than to talk to each other, they spent as much time as they could within reason on their hair, their "shiny" new uniforms, and on their make-up. They understood the deal perfectly- they had to make themselves look like ladies, or they would almost certainly get the boot. And, any of them unwilling to do so was not a part of their team. They were all willing to make sacrifices, embarrassing or otherwise.

Dottie and Kit were in front of the long mirror directly above the row of sinks. Dottie was rolling her tube of dark red lipstick over her lips whereas Kit was trying her hardest to smooth down her natural frizznest of hair. From behind them, another player, Betty Horn, was talking to the girl who had caused a scene by showing that she was illiterate back at the stadium in Chicago.

Betty: "You see this card?"

Shirley: "Yes..."

Betty: "My husband Joe collects these. He's in Germany, so I thought he'd like it if I could get this signed by the coach. Look at who it is!"

Shirley:...

Betty: "Oh...oh! Sorry, I forgot that you can't, um... Well, this is Jimmy Dugan."

Shirley: "Can I hold it?"

Betty: "...Well, alright. Just be careful with it. If anything happens to that, Joe's gonna come back from Germany and kill me..."

Dottie, who had been listening to the two girls talking, continued applying her make-up for a moment before she heard Kit talk to her.

"Jimmy Dugan? Who's he supposed to be?"

Dottie was silent for a moment. "If I remember right..." She rubbed her lips together, rubbing the lipstick on both lips equally. "He's a hitter that worked for the Chicago team a while ago."

"How long is awhile ago?"

"I... dunno."Dottie answered, reaching behind her neck and head to arrange her dark red hair around her shoulders. "His day was back when I wasn't all that interested in the game..." She stopped as she saw some of the other girls' facial expressions looking at her from the reflection in the mirror. They were looking at her as though she had just sputtered out a long string of curses and obscenities. She coughed nervously and looked down at the sink in front of her. "...Per say."

"Huh..." Kit murmured. She glared at her reflection in the mirror for a few more moments before she reached forward and wrapped her fingers around her old brush and ran it through her hair a couple of times slowly. "Well, alls I know is that he had better know how to coach us right..." She frowned, and tugged her brush through a tangled spot in her hair. She pulled her brush through it as hard as she could, resulting in a slight hissing sound as the hair wrapped itself in the bristles of the brush, causing Kit to wince. "And, that's all I know."

They were both quiet, and behind them, they could hear the almost comforting buzz of excited talking. When the man slammed into the locker room, banging the old wood door against the white concrete of the wall next to the door, Dottie had been pushing her things into her purse, readying to shove it back into her locker. All of the women in the room nearly jumped out of their skins. When they recovered, all of them were staring at the man who glared at them blankly from where he leaned against the doorway with one shaky arm.

The way he was standing looked certainly recognizable to many, if not all, of the women. He could barely push himself up against the doorway, he looked so weakened. If it were not for the uniform (now recognizable as a male and more comfortable counterpart of their own, complete with the exact same emblem over the fronts of theirs) they might have mistaken him for a drunk who had accidentally stumbled in.

They were all thinking the same name, it was right on the tips of all of their tongues, but it was some unknown girl in the back of the locker room who said it. "It's HIM- it's Jimmy Dugan!"

Jimmy stared in the general direction of the girl who had spoken his name aloud in a sort of blank, sort of angry glare- then pushed himself off of the doorway and made his drunken, swaggering way across the locker room. Just as he was passing by both Shirley and Betty, he swerved nearly off of his feet, and would have fallen over- if not for Shirley, who quickly grabbed hold of his arm and held on with surprising strength.

It took Jimmy a few moments to get ahold of himself again, but when he did, he jerked his arm away from Shirley's hold, and grunted in annoyance before continuing the same trip he had been taking from the door and across to the other end of the locker room. He reached the half wall of glazed glass that separated the locker room from the shower and rest room, and hesitated there a moment before burping loudly and stumbling his way past the wall, staggering up to one of the urinals.

As he unbuttoned himself and began to water the awaiting porcelain urinal rather unceremoniously, a few of the girls blushed and looked away from the sight of their coach urinating and grunting loudly- but it was, for the most part, the unmarried players who looked away, embarrassed. The rest of the women just watched on in surprise, or while stifling laughter behind their hands.

Out of the corner of Dottie's eye, she saw Mae walk up to Doris. "Let me see your stopwatch, Doris." She ordered, her hand, bright with the new layer of bright pink-red nail polish that she had put on an hour before while in the bus, outstretched to Doris.

Doris hesitated, seeming to think it over. "Eh... alright." She pulled something small out of the small pockets of her uniform's skirt and handed it to Mae, who grabbed it and began to click furiously at the stop watch's buttons.

"Hey... what'choo usin' it for, anyway?" Doris asked soon after Mae seemed to have gotten the stopwatch to work as she wanted it to. Mae ignored her.

"Hey, are you listenin' to me? What are you doin' with it?" Doris's voice had risen a level. She was starting to sound angry. In the area beyond the half-wall, Jimmy's head fell back, and he groaned loudly. One of the other women, a younger ones, giggled.

"O.K, if you're not going to tell me what you're doing, you can give me-" Doris came up to Mae, almost grabbing it away from her. "GIVE ME THAT BACK, MAE!"

Mae twisted away from her for a moment, but her eyes never left the face of the stop watch. Out of the corner of her mouth, she spoke.

"Shut up, Doris." She hissed.

Dottie turned her attention away from the two squabbling women, and stared at Jimmy Dugan's back for a moment. The second he had walked- stumbled- into the locker room, banging that door against the wall, Dottie got the unmistakable feeling that she was now had a drunkard on her hands. Which, all things now considered, could only amount to trouble.

From behind her, she could hear as the squabble between Mordabito and Murphy start to run into another inning- so to speak. "Mae, I ain't kidding you- gimmie back my watch before I knock you off your ass!"

"Doris, shh!"

"Don't you go "shhh"-ing me, Mae! If you think I'm kidding-"

Both women stopped nagging at each other when Jimmy, done with using the urinal, came staggering out of the area beyond the half-glass wall. Almost as soon as he passed by the glass wall, everyone surrounded him eagerly.

"Jimmy-"

"Mr. Dugan-"

"Jimmy-"

Dottie was amongst the women desperately trying to get to the drunken, oblivious male's attention. As he walked away from all of them, he made annoyed waving gestures at them, as though to get them away. As he came closer to the door, Betty, holding out her card to Jimmy as well as a black pen, had it yanked out of her hands by Jimmy. For only the slightest moment, a smile creeped onto her lips.

Then, Jimmy tore it to pieces. He ripped the card up into pieces, throwing them above his head so that they fell around him as he staggered away in a snow of multi-colored paper bits. Everyone fell silent and watched on in shock as he, without any introductions, good-byes, or apologies, threw the locker room's door open again, and just... walked out.


	11. Meanwhile Revised

**Author's Note:** Hey there, five people who occasionally read my stuff!- Welcome!

This is technically not a full chapter (hence the .5), but I was a little concerned that I was taking too long with preparing the next full chapter. I also wanted a little comic relief to be included to cleanse the palette, as well as a little bit of a peek into the time in which this story takes place. Also, if you think this is inappropriate to be poking fun at the insanity that was the way that prim ladies in the late fourties tried to shove Christianity down everyone's throat at every given moment, then I don't recommend reading this particular Meanwhile..., so either skip this to get to the story, or shut up. Yeesh, there's my warning, okay?

**Chapter 10.5- Meanwhile... Revised**

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* * *

**

On The Radio...

_You are listening to ninety-one point five, Chicago's one and only radio programme dedicated to the fight for good morals, decency, and teaching the correct way to pursue an ideal Christian lifestyle! _

_Now, as a reminder to all you ladies out there, there is a bake sale taking place at the St. Goodfriar church tonight, so make sure that unless you haven't added your sweet treats to our growing collection, they're still accepting late arrivals on all baked goods, and remember, ladies, it all goes to a good cause- saving up for St. Goodfriar's new educational programme focused on teaching today's youth good morals and to steer away from the bodily temptations that are the embodiment of our anti-lord, Satan. _

_And, speaking of good morals, decency, and of a female Christian lifestyle, we would now like to turn over to my friend- and yours- Maida Gillespie, the leader of the Parent's School Board at Holy Cross Middle School in our very own Windy City of Chicago, one of the creators of the five years old Christian Ladies Against Malnutrition, which, need I remind you, is what is giving our schoolchildren a fighting chance against the dangers of under eating... (long silence) _

_Ahem... as well as a weekly contributor to Christian Ladies' LIFE, known often for her views on religion, today's generation- and how they've become corrupted, as well as her tips on the art of proper floor covering crocheting._

_(The voice turns into that of a very stern sounding woman) Thank-you, Mr. Povanininch. Now, I would like to begin my talk for today on the issue of today's adults._

_Normally, I wish to talk about our nation's children, but it seems to me that while I believed (as many of you have as well) that the fight against Satan's eternal grasp was a more dire fight for our younger people, I have of late begun to become concerned over the new trend of older and older people becoming corrupted _in the mere blink of an eye._ Put simply, I feel as though it is more the feminine attitude that is slipping closer and closer to unacceptable for a Christian lifestyle, and I feel as though everything we ladies have cultivated in this great land of our forefathers, our efforts to create our own little garden of Eden, is beginning a steady pace down the hill of corruption._

_How, may you ask, do I justify what I say when I mean "corruption"? _

_All you need to see now to believe me is to go visit Harvey Stadium, where once our men went to play the innocent and all-American sport of baseball has become hideously marred. _

_WOMEN are now the "athletes", wearing uniforms well above the knees, blouses with buttons that do not allow any of the "lady" players to show anything less than the entire UPPER HALVES of their bosoms, and flirting with the married men that are their coaches and spectators! _

_Just knowing what those girls who dare to call themselves "athletes" are doing to our once beautiful jewel nestled around the neck of our fair city remind me very much of the old saying that idle hands are the devil's tools; and instead of learning to stitch properly or to cook for themselves, they have learned how to filthy themselves up like godless barbarians and MEN. And, obviously, none of these "ladies" have picked up any of my tips on fashion, proper wifely activities, and, I would say, beautiful designs for crocheting and sewing fans alike._

_This is it for me, fellow loyal female foot soldiers in the fight for good morals, decency, and for our lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ!_


	12. Stand By You Revised

**Chapter 12- Stand By You Revised**

**Author's Note:** Well, it's been... one whole day since my last update. To my surprise, I seem to have garnered the attention of another person. Well, welcome... and to anybody still out there after my bad authoring manners, welcome back. Now, back to da comedy, da drama, and da ACTION!... Ha ha, kidding... I ain't particularily idiotic... I don't believe so, anyway... (Am I?)

Also, did anybody realize that shortly after A League Of Their Own became a big thing, a soon aborted TV series spin-off of the show hit the airwaves before promptly dying after 3 or so episodes? Well, now ya know. Also, while going through the cast list, I found that the people who played the two most important characters (Dottie & Jimmy... DUH) were played by people who were NOT the original actors. Um, no Geena Davis? No Tom Hanks? No thank-YOU.

Was I rambling there for a moment? Sorry. Carry on.

**_--Mad Red Queen_**

* * *

Dottie couldn't believe it; just when she felt as though she could learn to like the new position she had found herself in, something utterly horrible like had happened. Their "coach" turned out to be as much of a drunk as one of the old farmers back home during their time away from their fields or pastures, and he seemed just as graceful and civilized as one as well.

Just her luck. And the rest of the team's luck as well, it seemed.

"What are we supposed to do?!"

"Should we chase him down?! He didn't give us a line-up!"

"We can't play without a line-up!"

"-And he didn't look fit to coach us...!"

Finally, through the noises of general confusion and panic, a loud, brash voice overrode theirs. "Girls... GIRLS!" then, when women still continued to talk in a panic, the voice yelled, "Shut up, everyone!"

It was Doris Murphy who was standing on top of the scuffed wood benches near the lockers, wearing that look on her face that said, very plainly, that everyone had better listen to her or she was going to start bloodying noses quicker than any of them could pull hose up their dainty legs.

"I hate to be the one to have to break the mood, but now ain't the time for a big chicken coop squabble. We need a coach, and we need one right now."

Doris gave every woman around her an expectant look, no doubt wanting someone- anyone- to jump in saying, "Oh! Oh! I know someone who..." or, "I know how to coach! Leave it up to me!" Unfortunatly, nobody did either. Finally, sighing and scratching at the back of her head, Doris said, "Really? Nobody has a clue?"

Apparently not.

In fact, the only person who could possibly help them was trying to hide behind one of the taller girls in the back of the small crowd with her back turned, trying to be as discreet as possible. Dottie pulled her hat further down her forehead for good measure, hoping all the while that some girl- someone much more qualified than her- would just step up and save her from a task she believed wholeheartedly that she was not ready for.

Meanwhile, the sound of Doris, trying her damnest to rally up what miniaturized strength still survived after watching their assigned coach struggle to keep his balance on his own legs to come forth, continued. Dottie tried to block the sound of Doris' voice, growing more and more desperate with every plea with the sounds of her own self doubt, which, unlike Doris, began growing stronger and stronger. She couldn't _coach _a real _game!_ Playing was one thing, but cooking up strategies for an actual, genuine team?

She was more than certain (or, at least, that's what she told herself) that even Jimmy Dugan, as drunk as he was, could coach a real game much better than she ever could. After all, hadn't he been specially hired as real cream of the crock in coaches?

Hadn't he?

Dottie was so preoccupied with attempting to ignore the loud voice of Doris Murphy that when the arm snaked out of the crowd of women and began to tug her past players as easily as though they were just slightly plumper corn stalks in a field, Dottie was too surprised to fight back. It wasn't until she found herself the center of attention... and too close to Doris Murphy to just rip out of the woman who was dragging her's claws to be able to safely sink in the back of the group of women.

"H-hey! What're you-?!" Dottie cried, nonetheless attempting to extract herself from the hands dragging her. Unfortunatly, the woman that had ahold of her had a good grip on her, and Dottie was only let go of when the woman threw her at Doris Murphy's feet. Dottie barely managed to regain her balance, and when she got steadied, she turned behind her to give the woman who had thrown her into the lion's pit an ugly glare. She was unsurprised to find that the person standing behind her was Kit.

"Here's the one we need." Kit said, ignoring the murderous expression that was visible on her sister's face. "She's always helped me, at least- and, hey, I'm good, so she must be doing something right."

Dottie was about to retort that Kit was such a mess up that any sort of success she had ever had was because she had been holding her hand all the while, but before she could, Doris spoke.

"Hey, yeah, you were the one who coached us back at the game, weren't you?"

Mae, who had been quitely watching the small scale fiasco, spoke up. "If you were the one who got us to win back at the field, then I bet you're the person that can definitely help us the most." she smiled. "Which is good, because I seriously thought we were screwed for a minute there."

Dottie felt herself waffling- and with that feeling of her control slipping away she felt any ability she could have had to talk her way out of what was about to happen coherently dying a hard death. "I know you all want help..." Dottie struggled to say.

Doris interrupted her in a sharp, sarcastic voice. "Yeah, no shit."

"...But what happened back at the try-outs was was something different from here..." Dottie looked at the women standing around her as her voice trailed off, desperation growing. Finally, she turned her head to the ground, sighed, raised her head back up, and said, "I mean, this isn't just try-outs; this is the _real thing-"_

"Again," Doris interrupted again, resting her hand on her jutted-out hip. "yeah, no shit, Sherlock."

Dottie felt inches away from just yelling _NO, I WON'T PLAY COACH!, _but the hand on her shoulder drew her anger to an abrupt stop when it gave her a gentle shake. The arm in question happened to be attached to Kit.

"C'mon, Dottie..." Kit said softly. "This is real now... and none of us can coach right. Except you."

Dottie didn't want to answer her sister- or any of the other women, for that matter- but it looked as though her preferred choice had died away faster than tender buds during the first frost of winter. With a heavy, chest-heaving sigh, Dottie raised her head up to meet first Kit's pleading, bright blue eyes, then Doris Murphy's eyes, which seemed to be a color which was a fair comparison to mud.

"Well, alright; but only because I don't want us to lose on account of that drunk_."--_

As women, wearing clothes that looked nothing like proper baseball attire walked through the cement hallway leading to the field, imaginations, flowing like a downwind mountain stream, were allowing the women players to see through the eyes of the greatest gods (and, in their minds, soon-to-be god-_desses) _of the emerald diamond. In their minds, they were wearing the uniforms of their favorite baseball teams instead of the skirted pink atrocities meant for "softball ballerinas" that they had to wear, and that the end of their walk down the hallway would lead them out into that impossibly bright patch of green grass where spectators were already their ready-made fans.

As Dottie walked out into the green, she had time to see their drunken excuse for a coach stagger out of the dugout, cap pulled off of his head of thinning brown hair. She thought that things were going to look up, if Dugan looked as though he was at least willing to toddle about, if not drunkenly. She was to soon realize that things were going to look bleak for not only her team- but for the whole All-American Girls' Softball League. And, it wasn't until Dugan slowly made his way out of the dugout and started to wave at the spectators above the dugout that Dottie, and every other woman, realized that the people who had shown up to watch their game were heart sinkingly low in amount.

But, the enthusiastic reaction Dugan received when he waved his head-hugging cap up at them gave new hope to Dottie. _Well, they may be a small crowd, but they seem to be positive about being here. And, _she reminded herself_, Our games back home sometimes got less people to show up than this. _

That little spot of optimism seemed to officially die between the time Dugan struggled drunkenly back into the dugout without so much as a word to Dottie or any of his other players and when Dottie stood on the Peaches side of the field, beginning the line of players that faced the people who sat watching them in the stands. The only thing certain was that it wasn't just Dottie who felt her heart drop into a dark, bottomless pit in her stomach. That proud, excited feeling that was shared with all of her fellow players wilted away at the sight of the people above the field.

For one thing, the people all looked as though they were there with the expectation of a much different show than what the women had planned to give. No, Dottie realized, they looked more as though they had come in the understanding that they had paid their five cents to see a troupe of circus performers play funny tricks on each other with seltzer water and on top of tight ropes rather than to see a planned war between two ball teams take place on the field beneath them. Or, Dottie considered bleakly, they had come to what they were thinking of as a freakshow.

The men may have been old perverts, teen boys there with their dates, or even off-duty sailors, but most looked more or less one step away from being totally and completely soused on alcohol, most with their faces as red as cherries from what was probably from a couple of hard days of drinking. Even the small boys, one or two looking around the age of 6, seemed to be getting a real gas out of the scene playing before them, and acted not unlike their drunken, older counterparts.

The women seemed less than amused, however, staring down at them in cold consideration- almost as though they were tallying up anything any of them did on the field as either a good, a bad, or a _really _bad to all of womankind.

It became even bleaker for the women as they lined up across their half of the field with the South Bend team lined up on the other side. While the Peaches stood with only the players on the field, waving and smiling vacantly to a crowd that far from shared the same feelings of good will back to them, the Blue Sox coach stood with his players, seeming to give emotional strength to the otherwise nervous Blue Sox.

The good 'ol boy that seemed to be their resourceful, inspiring coach seemed to be busy trying to force his cap over his big, fat head and sit down on the dugout's bench at the same time. He had little to no success at either he was attempting, and he ended up almost tripping over himself as he tried to manuver himself into a sitting position on the bench, landing on his back on the bench with a grunt of pain before he gave up moving. Dottie could almost imagine the sound of his snoring.

While Dugan was resting on his bench, innocently unaware of the uncomfort that his team was facing, Dottie became aware of an upset in the audience. As soon as she realized that it was laughter, she felt her heart, lodged firmly in her stomach as she had believed it to be, drop down her knees. It was only through a force of will that she continued her Miss America-esque pose, smile, and tiny wave at the crowd of people who were, it seemed, all laughing at them. She felt dread build in her as she feared what some of the more bolder teammates would do once the petrification wore thin. Like, for example, her _sister._

"They're _laughing." S_he heard Ellen Sue Gotlander mumble softly.

"Yeah, well, they're just a buncha hyenas, wantin' for us to just slip up so they can gnaw on that big poof of blond you call hair." Dottie recognized the second voice as belonging to Betty Horn.

When she finally couldn't stand to not look over at her fellow teammates, she was surprised to find that the other women were staring up at the stands with wide, overly sweet smiles, none showing any sign that they were even aware of the loud, baudy laughter coming from the half-drunk or coldy speculative people in the stands in front of them.

In one moment, Dottie was so proud of not just Kit, who was also staring forward and not showing any signs that she even realized or cared that their audience were viewing them as clowns in skirts, but also of every woman on her team. The sight of her ususally overly excitable sister alone made Dottie feel as though her strength could come back to her.

She turned her head back to the stands of laughing people, her grin seeming to grow a notch as she did. _If they can do this without snapping and yelling, then I can coach them. _

She wanted very much to win right then, and not because of the Blue Sox. She wanted to get them to win against those seat-fillers up there who had their fingers pointed down at her and the other players. She wanted to show them- _all_ of them- that they could do more than simply wear ridiculous uniforms and be able to take a veritable mental torture like what they were withstanding then.

They could be champions.--


	13. Catching Hell

**Chapter 13- Catching Hell**

**Author's Note:** How long has it been since I've last updated? Oh well, that's besides the point. Anyway, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it, because I really love all of these characters- especially writing the comedic parts. I hardly get a chance to write comedy anymore.

**_--Mad Red Queen_**

_Fun Fact + Alot of the extras in the original movie (A League of Their Own) were unpaid. To entertain them (and themselves) Tom Hanks would do puppet shows, Rose O'Donnell would perform some stand-up comedy, and the others actors would do things like sing and tap-dance for them. The things they usually sung were actually Madonna's songs. Where was Madonna herself?- despite many of the extras being her fans and wanting to hear her sing, she flatly refused to perform._

* * *

It wasn't until after the National Anthem played and the teams began to take their places on the field that the crowd began to really get bold.

"Don't any of you broads have anything better to do than swing bats?"

Dottie, who had been pulling her catcher's gear out from a series of bags that it had been stored in, felt her head immediatally shoot up. She had been planning on, like many of the other girls, who had decided, through unvoiced group consensus, to ignore anything rude that the crowd was going to do. But, just like her sister (but to a lesser degree) she had a viable anger fuse.

She just barely resisted the urge to yell _who said that?! _up at the crowd, but she continued glaring up at what little bit of the crowd she could see from their dugout for a few moments as she continued pulling out gear.

The game started off with a few hitches, and since they were the visitors, they were up to bat first. Three of their girls got knocked out eventually- to Dottie's disappointment, she found that she would have to wait until the next inning to get a chance to hit.

The next half of the inning looked as though it was going to go out alright- that is, until Kit, who had insisted on being the pitcher, tried to throw overhand the first time she attempted to pitch. It was the announcer who first spotted the mistake.

"Oh me, oh my- a mistake already! It seems that Ms..." there was a long pause, in which the announcer was no doubt trying to figure out who Kit was. "..Kit Keller has made a mistake in the first minute of the game. Remember- underhand, not overhand, folks."

A red-faced Kit went stomping passed Dottie, and threw her glove at Barbara Babbitt, who was sitting out in the dugout. The game's one and only umpire had just barely walked up to her before she had stomped off into the dugout, leaving the poor man standing with a baffled look on his face. Hearing Barbara scramble out of the dugout, trying to shove her glove on while Kit yelled angrily from inside of the dugout, Dottie couldn't help but laugh- even when the announcer almost gleefully said, "And it seems that Keller is not very happy!"

"Go blow it out your ass!" Kit yelled from the dugout.

The game got along well after that- Barbara threw underhand without a hitch, much to the disappointment of the crowd, who had liked the emotional spectacle Kit had shown them. They had gotten a good start- the farthest the other team got to the home plate had been that one girl on second base- who promptly got sent packing after getting rammed off course mid-run to third by Doris Murphy. In fact, it seemed that despite the under hand, the skirt uniforms, and the lack of any fans whatsoever in the stands, many forgot that it wasn't baseball like how most of them played at home.

Just before the teams were about to switch positions- with Dottie aching to hit her first ball in the game as far as an underhand throw could get her- a woman, dressed in a dark blue dress, high heels, and a matching dark hat literally tore out into the field from out of the other team's dugout.

"Whoa, ladies and germs," the announcer said, humor returning to his voice where before he had been simply droning the going-ons of the game. "who is this stranger running onto the field?"

Dottie, who had glanced at the other team's players in the other dugout, saw the other team's players groan almost as one. The woman sprinted over to first base, stopping short of falling over before reaching Helen Haley, the first base (wo)man.

From where Dottie stood, she could not hear what the woman in the dress was saying to Helen, but it was clear that she was lecturing, yes, _lecturing_ their team's first base woman.

After a long period of watching a quite embarrassed Helen stand while the woman, who looked more at home in Sunday mass than on a field, yelling at her, jabbing her finger at her, the ground, then back at her, the woman eventually trudged back to the home team's dugout. Helen, still looking embarrassed, looked over at Dottie, who had been, like everybody else, staring at her. She blushed and shrugged.

When it was time for the next inning to begin shortly, all of the women huddled into the dugout. Dottie had only glanced over at Helen before Helen said, "That was the other team's Chaperon."

"Chaperon?"

"Yeah. She told me that if I spit on the ground again, I'm going to be kicked out of today's game."

"...Chaperon-? What the hell- you mean, like, the other team has a woman to watch everything they do?"

Helen cringed a bit. "Yeah... yeah."

After that, the game went on as the women all got into their places. Dottie had wanted to be the first to get a crack at batting first, but Kit, looking as though she was more than eager to prove herself again, shoved her way in front of her, grinning back at her, yelling out, "Well, y' don't mind, do ya, sis?"

Kit walked up to the home plate, letting her favorite bat ride on her shoulder. The other team were all in place on the field. But the only person Dottie focused all of her attention on was the pitcher.

The woman in question, wearing South Bend dark blues, was standing on the mound, her gloved hand tapping at her thigh, her other hand touching the ball. She looked expressionless at first- then as she stared at Kit she began to smile a disconcerting grin. Dottie suddenly got the feeling that this woman could see into Kit- and she saw some of Kit's greatest flaws in her game. The chill Dottie felt, looking at the woman and her expression as she looked at her kid sister, felt very much real to her.

Kit readied her bat, and even from where she stood, she knew how cocky her sister looked. She just barely held herself back from wanting to throw something at the back of Kit's head.

The pitcher readied- and threw the ball at Kit. Kit swung.

Dottie believed, for a second, that Kit had hit the ball- but she saw the catcher behind Kit move to catch the missed ball in her large mitt.

Before the catcher, Kit seemed to have frozen up.

Dottie hissed "_Damn" _under her breath. She knew her sister better as a player than her sister knew herself- and even from the back, Dottie knew that her sister had begun to lose faith in her ability.

And, whenever Kit began to lose sight of what she really was good at...

Dottie wanted more than anything to cup her hands together around her lips, and yell out to Kit to not psyche herself out. Once she psyched herself out, her talent was worth less than shit. And, as if to confirm the fact that Kit had probably come close to psyching herself out, Dottie saw the grin the pitcher was wearing expand.

"Bitch." Dottie muttered to herself.

"What's that?" Asked Shirley Baker, who was standing near Dottie.

Dottie didn't say anything, and her silence seemed to make Shirley uncomfortable. Shirley eventually turned to talk to one of the other girls selected to be up to bat behind her, leaving Dottie to stare out of the dugout, transfixed by the sight of her now struggling sister.

_Damn it. Damn it. Kit, focus._

Kit readied her bat to swing and Dottie watched in what felt like slow motion as the pitcher wound her arm up and threw the ball forward.

Her faith in Kit being able to hit the ball was less than great- anytime she allowed herself to get upset by missing, she usually set herself up for certain out. In fact, it was only though a force of will that Dottie could even remain watching the scene without slamming her eyes shut.

Oddly enough, it was the crack of the ball connecting with the wood bat that Dottie heard before she saw Kit send the ball sailing past the pitcher, past the infield on the left, and into the outfield.

Even though the outfielders missed catching the ball, and all of the girls out there had to go running through the grass like dogs searching for a scent trail, Kit had not taken advantage of luck that was, in her case, a rarity.

Of all things for a batter who had just hit a ball a good distance away should have been doing, standing still in shock was one thing that shouldn't be on the list. Yet, that was exactly what Kit was doing.

Dottie yelled out before she realized what she was going to yell out at Kit. "Run, run, _run, Kit!"_

Kit seemed to snap out of her shock and awe, and quickly broke for first base, her torso looking as though it was pulling the lower half of her body and her head along with it at top speed. As she hit first base, Dottie saw the scramble in the outfield turn into a united action whose goal was to get the ball into the inner diamond. Then, Kit was safe.

Then she wasn't. Always the showman, Kit had run past first base, heading to second– even with the ball she had hit coming into kissing distance of ruining her performance that inning altogether. When Dottie yelled out to Kit this time, she was not alone- the rest of her team, with the exception of Coach Dugan- yelled out with Dottie as one.

"STOP, Kit, STOP!"

But it was too late. She was sprinting away from the first base, heading rapidly towards second. But it wasn't rapid enough.

The ball, thrown by an unknown blue sox from the outfield, came at the second base woman so fast that Dottie barely had enough time to feel her stomach turn itself into a black hole in which all of her optimism for her sister's performance was being sucked into, replacing it with a sick feeling that began in her feet and crawled up her body like a monkey scaling a tree.

A cloud of sand-colored dirt appeared over the second base, concealing the scene that Dottie was watching with stilled breath as, she realized, Kit slid into the base. And then, silence, as even the rowdy crowd watching was stunned into silence.

The cloud rose steadily, revealing two figures through the heavy dust cloud that stood, one on the base, the other standing beside it. The one on the base, Dottie recognized quickly, was Kit.

Both figures on second base were near still, both looking at each other questioningly.

The still moment between the two women didn't last long as Kit grimaced and reached down to her knee. She grabbed at a dark splotch that had appeared on it.

Usually, Dottie was less than understanding when Kit caused her own problems- but now, with the game in jeopardy because of her little sister's actions, Dottie was angry enough to spit bullets at Kit.

The umpire, who had been leaning against one of the walls, looking around as though he was bored, snapped into action quickly. He walked over to Kit and the second base woman. It took Dottie, who was a good distance from the whole scene, a few moments before she recognized the look on the umpire's face as unsurity.

Everybody in the dugout felt the dread that practically filled the dugout as the umpire spoke to the two players on second base. There was silence, as pure as any could have ever been during a ball game, as both teams watched on.

Then, the umpire's head turned downwards, looking at the base woman's feet intently as both girls tried to talk to him. Hope came to not only Dottie, but to everyone on the team at the sight of the large white ball that laid next to the base woman's foot.

"She dropped the ball." Said a voice that Dottie recognized as Mae Mordabito.

"Yeah, she dropped it!" another woman, this time Evelyn Gardner, said, her excitement obvious.

More women in the dugout began to whisper amongst each other, excitement and happiness returning once more to the dugout. In fact, the only voice that did not sound happy was the slow, mostly asleep voice of their coach from the mostly abandoned bench.

"What the hell's all the noise about?" he groaned sleepily.

Not turning around, Dottie could hear someone tell Jimmy to shut up and go back to sleep. Grunting, Jimmy replied that he couldn't argue with that kind of logic, and they didn't hear anything more from him.

The women all continued chattering, acting as though the umpire's decision was tied up for them already. It was Dottie, speaking in a low voice, still turned towards the field, that brought reality back to the dugout.

"But the question is," she said, pausing, allowing for two girls, who were still talking, to quiet down. She repeated herself, then continued. "...did she drop the ball before or after Kit got to the base?"

Not even Doris, who looked ready to question her at first, made a sound. It was pretty cut and dried what Dottie had said. There was still a chance that all of them could be saying hello to Kit sooner than any of them wanted to.

A few more agonizing seconds as the umpire continued to talk to the women on the base. Kit looking angry, and the base woman quickly becoming as angry as Kit. The umpire looks uncomfortable being between the two women who look as though they want nothing more than to begin slugging it out in the parking lot outside. Then, the umpire turns away, and yells out.

"Not out! Not out!"

The victory yell began behind her before Dottie could start herself. She did not yell like a lot of the women- most obviously, Doris and Mae, who whooped and yelled out "yeah!" repeatedly. Dottie, still fuming inside, nonetheless clapped politely as she saw her sister grin in the direction of the dugout.--

"_And next, here's...Dottie Hinson- Kit Keller's kid sister!"_

Jimmy Dugan, despite what many of the women in the dugout believed, was not passed out. Just asleep.

Well, for awhile, at least.

The sound of one of the girls (_MY girls, _he thought sarcastically to himself, remembering what that prick Ira Lowenstein had called them the day before,_ they're MY girls) _yelling out, "Go Dottie!" and, "Take Kit to third!" Woke him back up.

Cracking one bloodshot eye open, Jimmy saw the shapes of the girls all standing around the dugout entrance as one woman pushed by all of them, holding a bat. She was a red-head, and a tall one, at that. She was walking out of the dugout, but paused before she did, turning back to one of the girls in the dugout. She spoke for a moment, looking at her intently. The other girl nodded eagerly back at her, making the red-head smile. Damn, she had a big smile. Then the girl walked out of the dugout, cradling the bat against her, admittedly, very nicely formed chest.

Jimmy stared out at her for a few moments, finding his interest drawn to the way the short skirt she wore brushed against her ass as she walked away before he felt as though his headache was a flaming pain that had been ignited behind his eyes.

He groaned, fell backwards, and went back to sleep.--

_It's Dottie Hinson- Kit's OLDER sister, you dipshit._

Dottie nonetheless strode up to home base without giving the evil glare that she had wanted to give to the announcer.

She could feel every pair of eyes in the stadium on her- and the attention was not necessarily good. Point in question: the audience.

She fought the urge to look up at the crowd who had, despite the tense moment earlier with Kit, had gone back to being rude.

In fact, even as Dottie readied her bat, she heard a rude voice from the left yell out, "You girls don't know a baseball from a hockey puck!"

Anger boiled in Dottie as she rose her bat. She recalled everything- every stupid, rude, annoying, anger-inducing that had happened to her lately- her mother, telling her without outright saying it that married or not, Dottie was still a bad influence to her already wild younger sister, getting pulled into something she still maintained she didn't care about, her husband, fighting, possibly dying at any moment of any day, her irresponsible sister, nearly costing them their inning already, and that drunk lying half-dead in the dugout who was supposed to be coaching them...

Dottie barely registered the ball coming at her- or how hard she swung the bat, making a loud _swoosh_ as it swung upwards, meeting the ball and making it fly over the pitcher, past the infield, and over, over-

Well, _nearly_ over the wall. It actually hit the wall, bouncing off of the wall to roll a foot or so before stopping.

Before Dottie took off, she felt herself grinning as she realized that what she left as she sped to first base was another shocked silence.--


	14. The Drama Dugout

**Chapter 14- The Drama Dugout**

**Author's Note:** This takes place in the middle and end of the same game as before.

**_--Mad Red Queen_**

* * *

It was in the middle of the game that Dottie had begun to feel the pressure of everything in the game truly pushing at her. It was nearly impossible for her to coach the team when she knew barely anything about it. Hell, she could barely control her firebrand of a sister. It did not help in the least that the team they were up against had a more dedicated leader as their coach, too.

It could have been why, despite Dottie's strategies or not, they always seemed to be chasing the Blue Sox.

Out of all of the other team's players, however, the one Dottie wanted most to beat was the same pitcher that had given Kit so much trouble.

The pitcher had a soft, womanly face, but where she could have been considered beautiful, her nose, small or not, reminded Dottie of a dangerously sharp knife. It also seemed to add to how her eyes seemed to have a creepily dangerous gleam in them- which was probably what made her a good pitcher. Or at least _part_ of what made her a good pitcher. And, god, every time Dottie saw the woman she wanted to make her lose so badly that she wouldn't be able to look herself in the mirror without feeling embarrassed.

By the time the innings had ballooned into seven, Dottie was nearly impossible to try to compromise with. Poor Shirley, who had tried to talk Dottie into trading positions with Betty, who had been sitting out for awhile, ended up running out from the dugout with an embarrassed look on her reddened face. But, by the last inning, (and with the scores that were with the Blue Sox at twenty-three, and them at twenty) Dottie had grown abnormally quiet.

Everyone, with the exception of Kit, believed that Dottie had resigned herself to a sore, sore defeat. In her mind, however, a much different train of thought was running at full speed. Standing at the edge of the dugout, her foot on the cement block that held up the railing of the dugout's outlook on the field, Dottie scrutinized the team across the way. She measured up each and every woman she could see during their break as her own team members drank from the water fountain, talked, and were obviously trying not to allow thoughts to linger too close to their imminent failure. Some had thought to ask Dottie what the damned strategy and line-up was going to be for this inning, but everybody- including Kit- were a bit too afraid of rousing Dottie from her concentrated gaze.

And then, when it was only a little while left for them to make any plans like they should have for the entire time, Dottie's voice rang out in the dugout, bringing all of the other players out from their own distractions.

"Still up for right, Evelyn?"

Evelyn Gardner, a nervous soul in almost every part of her life, hesitated. When she didn't answer, Dottie repeated herself, her face steely and emotionless. Evelyn finally bit at her bottom lip and nodded. "Alright, good. Other than that, I don't think I have to make any switches..."

The sound of someone clearing her throat brought Dottie's head to her left. Standing next to Kit, Ellen, the pitcher for the last few innings, had her face turned downwards. She was nervously rubbing her lips together, which were newly reddened with a new application of lipstick. She busied her right hand in her pale blond hair.

"Well?" Dottie asked when Ellen did not talk immediately.

"I need to sit out for our defensive." she admitted. She finally rose up to face Dottie. "And Kit hasn't been out as pitcher since the beginning of the game. I'm not fresh, and I think I should just... sit out for awhile."

Dottie looked as though she was going to begin arguing with Ellen- but when her gaze happened to click over to some of the other women who were watching her, she felt as though she had been brought back to earth with a loud bang. Was she over-reacting? They were going to lose, anyway, and her snubbing her sister like she had wanted to for her earlier performance was something that would not lead to a calm and event-less bus ride for the next few days. Plus, she had to remind herself, Kit's problem was a hitting problem; not a pitching problem.

Any other considerations she may have voiced then was stalled at the sight of Kit's wide, begging eyes. _Please, Dottie. Please._

Dottie sighed. --

_This is it. _

Sweat began at her forehead and her crown, then poured down her face. If she hadn't been so mindless, so uncaring then, she might have thought about the fact that if her face wasn't as hidden as it was by the bill of her cap, she would have been seen by everyone else with her ruined make-up a blurry mess on her reddened face. She would have surely been forced to go into the dugout and apply some more, as were the was league rules.

But for now, all she cared about was the weight of the ball in her hand, and the woman she was trying her hardest at staring down. She, unlike her sister, and other, she loathed to admit, more talented players, could not stare down other players easily. Whereas her sister and many other ball players she idolized would be focusing on any hand signals her sister was giving her at that moment as well as sizing up the player she was up against, Kit found it nearly impossible to do both at the same time. It didn't help that, along with the full weight of the game now on her shoulders- which she was beginning to believe that she shouldn't have wished for, since she was living it then- she carried her own future as a ball player in her every action.

Her tongue felt like lead. How many outs had she gotten out of the parade of batters? One? Two? _Please, be more than one. I can't handle anymore of these nerve-shredders with me failing failing failing_.

It all swam painfully in Kit's mind, making it near impossible to focus. She knew she had lingered for too long in her own mind when she saw Dottie's signals grow more impatient. Steeling her legs as best she could, Kit fought to keep her eyes open as she readied her arm and the ball.

Too low? How was that even possible? But the umpire's yelling didn't lie; the ball lying where she had thrown it where the batter could not have hit it correctly did not lie, either. Neither did the strained look she felt coming in all directions at her from her team.

The ball came back. Kit weighed it in her hand for a moment, remembering some of the only advice that Dottie and her father alike both gave her that she had actually committed to long term memory. Sighing, she concentrated on the hand signal Dottie gave, all but giving up on staring down the batter.

I am not a baby. I am a woman, too, just like my sister. Damn it, I _am _a woman, I am!

She threw the ball at the batter, awaiting the crack of the bat connecting with the ball. It never came.

"Strike three- you're out!"

Kit didn't realize that she had become rooted to the pitcher's mound, until she was dully aware of people passing by her in both directions. The realization of what she had done- striked out the last batter for their last inning- gave her no great feeling of accomplishment, strangely. As she ran back to the dugout, all she could feel was relief. --

Dottie, who had gotten used to Kit's insistence in being involved with hitting and pitching, was surprised by Kit's immediate refusal when she had asked her if she had wanted to be up to bat next. It was a blessing; Kit looked less than fresh out on the field, even though she had had less air time than Ellen. Dottie had more important things to worry about than her usually rambunctious sister's downturn during the game, however. The other team were now leading them by five, despite her sister's attempt in their half of the inning. Five runs.

Could they really do it?

"Hey, boss," a kind voice next to Dottie said. Turning slightly, Dottie was surprised to see Mae Mordabito. "don't worry about it. We all expect to lose now, so all we can do now is try. Really, really, really hard."

Dottie took the advice that was so very strange, more because of the person it had come from than any other reason.

More than likely they were going to lose. But, they were going to lose in a stadium of people who more than likely despised them, they were up against a team who had an actual coach- and that pitcher. That damned woman with the knife nose. Everything the Peaches had were third rate or downright the worst. What they could do was at least try to have some fun in what they were doing.

Feeling a rare surge of optimism in her, she turned around to signal the team to come around her. Huddled up in a semi-tight circle, Dottie took note of every fresh, but somewhat down-trodden face surrounding her own. Looking at them, she quickly decided that it was the least she could do for them all. So she spoke.

"Look- we're probably going to lose-"

"Sure looks that way."

"- so I think that we should at least try to have fun out there-"

"While we're getting our asses beat?"

"Yes, Doris, even if we're getting our asses handed back to us."

"I can't have much fun if I'm getting my ass kicked, sorry."

"Well, come on, I'm sure we all lost back home at some point. Did that ever let any of you down before?"

"Pft. After I would lose, I would sometimes go back home, lock myself in my room, and refuse to come out for two days."

"...Yeah, don't do that now. But," Dottie held out her hand in front of another woman, who looked as though she was about to protest. "I think we all know, deep in our hearts, that winning isn't everything. And we should all at least try to make as much good as we can out of this situation."

There was a pause. Then it was Betty Horn who spoke up. "But what if what we're dealing with here is a complete loss of anything good- situation-wise?" --

Dottie had somewhat successfully gotten the other girls' eyes off of the idea of winning. But, she herself never quite gave up on it.

She picked Mae Mordabito as the first hitter, followed by Doris Murphy, then by Connie Calhoun- who was one of the fresher hitters, and an outfielder. Fourth was herself.

Her expectations were low as she squeezed in to sit next to the passed-out man in the dugout, watching as well as she could from her sitting position. But, to her shock and awe, Mae made it, then Doris, then Connie.

And, with no outs, Dottie went out to the field, her nerves worse than jangling her. She had begun to become used to the idea of just letting this one go; the idea that this could not be the end for the game made her anxious. Especially when it felt as though it was riding her, its boot spurs digging hard into her sides.

She rose the bat up as she reached home base, and faced the pitcher- who was a different woman from the one who Dottie had worried so much about. What she had been unable to see from the dugout was the woman's face. And, now she could see that the girl looked worse than she did. Hope rose in Dottie's chest, like a bird about to take off.

The girl looked from Dottie's face, to her legs, where the catcher was doubtlessly trying to get her to pay attention and try to calm down. Dottie wanted to smile- she let herself do it as confidently as she could. This poor girl was exactly like her sister. She bet that all she would have to do to get this girl to send Mae to home base was to just focus as well as she could, and fling that ball as far as she could. And, if there was one thing that Dottie could actually believe that she had over the other players, both on her team, and on the other, was her ability to focus.

She took in one breath, let it out, took it in, then-

WHACK

She only saw the ball fly far over the short-stop's head, then her legs jerked out from under her, and she was running to first. Someone was cheering- the crowd?- and when she took in as much information as she could from the first base, she realized two things- no one was on the second base in front of her, and to her right, the fumble after her ball was a mass of confused outfielders. For the very same thing she had earlier decided to, at some point, chastise Kit about, she did without thinking. Tearing off first base, she paid no attention to the fact that the roaring- real or imagined, in her head or truly from the crowd- seemed to increase, or that two of her girls had torn past home plate, and were brought into a stampede out in the dugout as they were greeted by the loud noises of celebration.

As she hit second base, her heart was close to leaping out of her chest, but she felt good, confident, happy. That is, until she saw the faint pink figure running from third base.

Panic gripped Dottie as she watched Connie, the second youngest girl on their team, run in pumping movements to home base, her brown hair, tied back in a braid that reached her shoulder blades, whipping at her. But the sight alone of Connie running was not what made Dottie yell out, "_No, Connie, go back!"_

From the outfield, a ball was being thrown towards the catcher. Connie was now close, so close to the home plate. But, she was not faster than the ball.

The catcher caught it just as Connie was two feet away from the home plate. She halted mid-run, seeing the flash of white in the catcher's immense mitt. She froze in place, along with everyone else in the stadium. Connie's first movement, curiously, was her right arm, which she jerked backwards, before she skidded around and began to try to run back to third. But, she had stopped too close to the home plate as it was. The catcher easily reached over and tapped her with the ball, even from where she stood near the base.

"You're out!" a voice yelled. Or, at least, Dottie believed she heard a male voice yell it out. --

"I'm sorry," Connie's soft voice whimpered imploringly from her place on the bench. She was sitting opposite of Jimmy, and was surrounded by most of her teammates, her head buried in her hands. "I just... I got so ramped up, I mean..."

The rest of her words were muffled by crying- and by Dottie's upper arm, which Connie turned to bury her face against.

Dottie had been cornered by Connie the instant she got sent back from running to home base, which she had reached with the help of both Marla Hooch and Helen Haley. Long story short, they were all riding on balding nerves- they were leading by just one point, after a miraculous last half. Now, all they had to do was strike out these last three hitters, and-

"...and it seems that the Peaches are having a few delays. Catcher Dottie Hinson is trying to console outfielder Connie Calhoun after the last half. And, oh sister, it seems that Calhoun is in little shape to move, let alone _play!"_

Dottie, who had been hoping that Connie would quit soaking her uniform's left shoulder, felt her own mood dampen when Connie buried her face more against her shoulder and begin to cry in earnest.

"Well, she's no good."

Dottie sighed. "Yeah, no shit. Who feels fit to fill her position for now?"

Silence.

"Don't be like this, girls. You know we're close to actually winning this."

Somebody scoffed. "Yeah, if they don't take our little lead, and shove it down our throats." It was Helen Haley.

"Now, don't talk that way. It's a miracle we're still in this inning. All I need right now is an outfielder, to take up from Connie here," Dottie had to jerk a bit when Connie attempted to pull her down more by her left. "and maybe, just maybe, we have a chance at this." --

It had been an hour after the game. They had all spent most of the hour showering, primping, fixing, applying, dressing, talking, and getting ready for the bus. They were all so busy that none bothered to ask about or went to see Jimmy Dugan, who, while they all busied themselves, spent his time asleep for twenty minutes before he was roused awake by Ira Lowenstein. Of course, none of them knew- or cared- about the fact that Lowenstein was there. Many actually wished that they would be able to leave the layabout Jimmy where he had been passed out for the duration of the game.

Even though everyone was talking, it was nonetheless a lot less talking than their locker room would have been flooded with, if the game had gone a different way. Everybody tried to act happy, but everyone was in truthfully bad spirits. And eventually somebody became sick of it.

"Hey now," Mae announced loudly, as everyone gathered together when they had heard that the bus driver was ready for them outside. Everyone turned to look at her. She was standing near one of the benches, Doris by her side. "I know thing look bad right now-"

She didn't hear a small voice, coming from the group of women near the locker room entrance say, "Shitty, if you ask me."

"-but we just lost one game. We can do better next time- hell, I know we can do better next time. So... so everybody should try to not look as though Jimmy died while he was passed out back there, okay?" That got a few giggles and smirks out of the women. "Okay?"

Nobody answered her, but she seemed pleased as she joined the rest of the women, with Doris following her, who was mumbling to herself.

"Yeah, Mae. Too bad I don't think we can get better without a real coach or anythi- ouch!"

Doris, who had thought she was momentarily out of earshot of Mae, felt as her friend buried her bony elbow into her stomach. --


	15. Ass isting

**Chapter 15- Ass-isting**

**Author's Note:** My word, the title of this chapter sounds like a bad porno title. Huh. Nevertheless, enjoy the chapter. Please. Oh, and I KNOW I promised those fun facts in every chapter (like a cheapo present in the bottom of a box of Cracker Jack), but I've had to switch computers that I work on. I lost the links I had for the movie facts and the such. Just wait until the next installment, and I'll see what I can do with holding up my end of the bargain.

--_Mad Red Queen_

* * *

By the time all of the women were in search of the bus, they were all looking forward to getting a few smokes in on the bus and trying to figure out ways to make the night go by without thinking about their loss. It could have been viewed by some that it was kinder that the the two setbacks happened almost all at once.

Jimmy Dugan came out from nowhere, joining them in the parking lot. More than one woman groaned in dismay at the sight of the unkempt man. It was when they turned to face the bus once more that they saw the silhouette of the small, neat woman who stood at the head of the bus's stairs.

As Dottie walked up and closer to the bus, she could begin to truly make out the shape of the matronly woman in the gloom of the interior of the bus. She was about to find out that she would prefer the company of the drunken Jimmy Dugan than that of the person standing in her path to the bus.

"Hello, ma'am," Dottie said as she reached the foot of the steps. "can I help you?"

The woman paused. Her dark gaze seemed to sweep not just over Dottie, but through her. "Young lady, I do believe you have our roles reversed. I'm here to help _you_. My name is Miss Cuthbert, and I will be taking over from Miss Sheldon in the role of team chaperon." as she stopped, she saw the stunned and confused looks she was receiving from the women who stood behind Dottie. Her darkly assessing look quickly changed to one of a similar confusion. "...You ladies have heard of Miss Sheldon?"

From behind her, Dottie heard her sister answer. "Who?"

"Your team chaperon, child." Cuthbert answered, still looking confused. "She at least spoke with all of you before she had to take her leave for business in Tennessee... yes?"

Another voice, that of Doris Murphy, spoke up. "No, Cutter," Cuthbert's spine visibly stiffened at the sound of her name being mispronounced. "We don't know about this, er, lady you're talkin' about."

Silence for a moment. Cuthbert sighed deeply, reminding Dottie most of a reverend before going into a sermon. "Well, then, ladies, we must all start out from the very beginning." --

It was finally nightfall when Kit and most of the women all settled down in the bus for the night. She couldn't blame them; back when she was in school, she felt the same feeling of being drained by the time night came.

They had all spent the past few hours stuck in all of their own hells, not only having to deal with the horrible heat in the bus, but all having to listen to Miss Cuthbert's many guidelines and interpetations of league rules. They had all been thoroughly and mercilessly lectured.

Well, everyone, that is, except for the two men on the bus- Jimmy and the bus driver. Jimmy had made it quickly clear that he didn't care who Miss Cuthbert was or what she was doing on their bus when he shoved past her as she had extended her hand out to him when he had pushed past three of the players in the bus's aisle. Since he had clambered onto the bus, he had made his presence known only through the occasional grunts and snorts he made as he slept near the front of the bus.

They had all wondered about the strange woman who had belonged to the opposing team earlier that day. Now, they felt as though any good feelings they may have all had after their defeat had been ground into dust.

They all took the rules badly- but it was Mae, out of all of them, who took it the worst. As Miss Cuthbert stood in the aisle of the bus, busy talking at all of them, it was Mae who glared fixedly at Cuthbert, her arms wrapped over her chest, tapping her foot on the bus's floor. She may not have spoken her resentment of both the rules the woman had brought with her, or the woman herself, but it was clear, with the words she hissed to Doris, who sat next to her, that she was not happy in the least about what the woman was saying.

It had all looked pretty bleak for every woman on board. There were no card games- Miss Cuthbert confiscated the cards after chastising the women for gambling. Betty Horn, who had brought the cards from her home, spent much of her time after they were taken away glaring at the back of the small woman in the front of the bus when she took her seat in the front of the bus. Mae Mordabito, who had been sitting in what was literally the back of the bus (which had become her usual spot, since Miss Cuthburt took up residence on the bus) too had taken to staring angrily at the old woman's back after she had been warned about back-talking during Miss Cuthbert's lecture about their dress code. To stress her point that Mae was not to back-talk, Mae had been restricted to sitting alone in her own seat and away from Doris Murphy until they reached the next rest stop.

After sunset, however, one of the women, who had come up the aisles to get something out of one of her luggage cases, halted as she was reached into one of the upper compartments near Miss Cuthbert's seats, and scampered to the back of the bus, where all of the women had clamored together to talk. Back there, she leaned over to Dottie, and excitedly told her that Cuthbert was fast asleep in her seat. Not only that- she had also covered her eyes with a sleeping mask- and she was snoring almost as loudly as the drunk (Jimmy Dugan) was.

A few girls were still nervous, even after learning that the woman who had taken over their lives had traded her chilled glare and long lectures for snores.. A few had to sneak up to the front to check for themselves. It was Kit who, trying to show off, had nudged the woman on the shoulder a few times, nearly jumping out of her skin when the sleeping form on the seat made a loud snorting noise in her sleep, and all but ran to the backside of the bus where all of her teammates were attempting to suppress loud pig-like snorts of laughter behind their hands.

After everyone was satisfied, one of the other girls had offered to pull out her own deck of cards so they could play, betting both sticks of cigarettes and baseball cards that some girls had with them. The game eventually turned into six women leaning across seats on the left side of the aisle, cussing at each other playfully, telling stories, and trading old baseball superstitions.

Dottie had nearly been forced into more than one game (it was usually poker or Go Fish), but she was still caught between sulking over their loss and being too exhausted for conversation. Before they had rolled into the dinky little town where their lodgings for the night were, she had bothered the bus driver about when they were going to get to the motel enough that he had decided to completely ignore her. The last time she asked, it had not been the driver who had answered her. But it had been a male's voice.

"We'll get there when we get there, so shut... the hell... up!" a drunken, slurry voice, coming from the seats near the front of the bus, barked. The owner of the voice had been lying in his seat for a great portion of the ride, seeming less than enthused about the ride. Since Miss Cuthbert had begun to sleep, however, first a flask, then a whiskey bottle, materialized out of nowhere, and he had begun to look less asleep and more like a sloppy, drooping drunk.

It was a lot less of a pain in the ass than Dottie had anticipated when they got into the motel. Their rooms were set up, some, who had taken naps on the bus and who were hungry, were lead into a back area of the place where a woman, who made no small statements that she disapproved of who and what they were, but who had nevertheless taken to glaring at them, had made them supper.

Dottie had not been in either the mood for the company of the tight-lipped, glaring housemother, or the promise of biscuits, potato salad, and meatloaf.

The rooms were located upstairs, so Dottie, carrying not just her own baggage, but her sister's as well, trundled her way up the stairs in a half-awake daze. She was having a bit of trouble finding her room- it turned out that all of the rooms were located on one long, narrow hallway.

She had started to realize that she was getting closer to her room- which was good, because her arms were aching from the weight of the traveling bags and the two suitcases- when she saw the man slouched in front of a door, attempting to insert a key into the door's lock.

Dottie was surprised, at first, to see Jimmy Dugan struggling in the hallway, trying to open his door unsuccessfully. When she regained her bearings, she was readying herself to push past the drunk, just wanting to get to her room before she fell asleep somewhere on the floor. As she was about to walk away from the drunk, however, she heard the sound of Jimmy grunting in annoyance, trying to position the key into the door's lock and failing as his hand made another involuntary drunken movement. Dottie paused as pity came quickly and without warning. How long would he be standing in front of his room's door, trying to get in?

She dropped her luggage on the ground, causing a healthy bang on the floor and turned around, approaching Jimmy. As she walked up to his side, he did not seem to notice that she was there. Jimmy was totally focused on the door and his key, and for a moment, unsure of how to approach him, Dottie could only watch as Jimmy managed to actually insert his key, turn it- then watch as he jerked at the door's knob. The door did not open.

Not wanting to see the pitiful spectacle for a moment longer, Dottie reached over and jerked the key out of his hand. For a second, Jimmy did not look as though he had even registered it in his mind that the key had been taken from him.

"Are you turning it the right way?"

Jimmy grumbled in response, still staring at the door.

By a matter of chance, Dottie turned her gaze down to the little piece of embroidered leather attached to the key. She frowned.

"Well, for one thing," she said, wrapping her hand around the befuddled man's wrist, taking him down the direction of the hallway she was going in originally. "this is not your room. Your room key is not this room's key. The room number's all wrong."

Jimmy made a low noise of understanding in his throat, and followed along like a small boy being lead by his mother. As Dottie passed by the luggage she had forgotten that she had left in the hallway, she was suddenly nearly jerked off of her footing when Jimmy made an unexpected movement backwards. Looking back at Jimmy, who had collapsed on the ground and who was groaning as though the air had gotten knocked out of him, Dottie saw the pile of luggage she had mistakenly made him walk through.

Muttering "Damn it" under her breath repeatedly, Dottie bent down to help Jimmy to his feet. The man complied, if not limply so. Dragging him with her more carefully than she had before, she steered him around the luggage, telling him, "Ya gotta watch out for the luggage. You kinda fell on your face back there."

Jimmy made no response. Shrugging it off, she continued down the hallway, watching where she walked with Jimmy holding onto her hand more carefully. When she found the door that matched the key's number, she came to the realization that her own door was right across the way from Jimmy's.

"Great," she mumbled sarcastically. "our rooms are right next to each other."

Dottie tried the key in the door. It worked. As she turned to face Jimmy, her gaze shot down. She was still holding his hand.

Looking up at the drunk's face, she let go of his hand as though it was something on fire. She rubbed her hands on her dress compulsively.

"This is your room. So-"

The man walked past her, into his room. As soon as he walked past the doorway, he began throwing his hat off and fumbling with his shirt's buttons. It was the sight of his clumsy attempts at throwing off his clothes that near mesmerized Dottie.

He had managed to pull his shirt off- completely mussing what he had of his hair in the process- when he began to fumble with his pants. Eyes wide, Dottie threw the door closed as quickly as she could. She ended up slamming the door hard enough to rattle the door jamb.

All she could do was stand there in a state of shock for a moment- not at the idea of a naked man, but the shock of nearly seeing the drunk man's naked ass, and him obviously not caring if she saw or not.


	16. On The Hush

**Chapter 16- On The Hush**

**Author's Note: **I promised it, so here it is. Sorry if I seem blunt- I'm in no mood for my usual crackpot humor and the such.

**Fun Fact+** The character, Jimmy Dugan, was loosely based on the real life coach Jimmie Foxx. The importance of this fact will be revealed at some point further in time. For now, just wait for the reveal, eh?

* * *

It was the moment Dottie emerged from the bathroom, still fuzzy-headed from a short night of sleep, that she was aware of the strange looks that the other women were giving her. She noticed it, mainly, because of the way that they had stopped whispering to each other when she had passed by them.

It was not like Dottie to skate around the idea of hitting the nail on the head as early as possible when something like what was obviously happening then occurred. But she also was in the habit of handling things with more finesse than her younger sister would have.

When breakfast was served to the team at the nearby breakfast nook after they had to contend with the fact that the motel owner's wife seemed to not want to wake up early enough to serve breakfast, Dottie managed to find a semi-secluded spot in a corner of the dining room. It was just her. Just her, that is, with the exception of Shirley Baker- who had been one of the women who had stopped talking with some of the other girls when Dottie had come out of the guest bathroom.

Both women were sitting in the corner of the room that was gloomy, despite the small windows behind where they sat at their table, which were covered in yellowing lace curtains.

As they sat at the table, waiting for one of the overworked waitresses to come over to their table, Shirley kept looking over at the other occupied tables in the room like somebody dying of starvation who had eyed a buffet. Dottie was surprised by the woman's reaction, to say the least. She had no idea as to what was going on behind poor Shirley's panicked features.

It was because of where they sat that they were the last to get their order taken from the waitresses. Which was all the better for Dottie. After she got a hold on Shirley's attention, Dottie got to her point. The fact that Shirley looked as alarmed as she was was more the reason for Dottie to try to understand why it was that the women had all been acting as weird as they had been that morning.

"When I was coming out of the bathroom this morning-"

"You look very good, you know," Shirley said, nearly stuttering. "I really love your hair- did you get someone from your family to cut it, or did you get it done at a salon?"

Dottie was confused with the other woman's obvious worry and fear. "No, I cut it myself. As I was saying, though, I was coming out of the bathroom this morning, and I noticed that you and a bunch of the other girls-"

"I, uh, yeah- speaking of the other girls, I've been getting lessons from a few of them. Helen, for example-"

"Look, Shirley, I just want to get this over with: what were you and the other girls whispering about that you didn't want me to hear this morning?"

Shirley looked at Dottie in disbelief for a moment. Then, finally, her disbelief was wiped away with a look of immense relief. "Oh, is that all? I thought that you were a'gonna tell me that it's time for me to take a walk..." she trailed off, beginning to laugh. Her laughter sounded anything but normal- reminding Dottie most of a horse whinny-ing after getting punched in the face. "...It's such a relief- all you want is to know what we were talking about..." She began to laugh again, relief seeming to pour out of her.

Dottie had been watching the spectacle that Shirley Baker had been making in the dining room, waiting for her to answer her. When that did not work, Dottie had to interrupt her while she was in the middle of another stream of near-psychotic laughter. "Yes, so would you mind, terribly, telling me what was going on?"

Shirley took a few deep, calming breaths in before she spoke, finally lowering her voice. "W-well, y'see, last night, the drunk, uh, well, he..." she took in a deep breath and blinked, her arms stretched out in front of her. "...I don't know if you know this, but Marbleann Wilkinson, Molly Brockman, and Betty Spa- I mean, Betty Horn were all sharing a room across from yours. They didn't realize it, but they were next door from where Jimmy Dugan and the driver had been put in. Well, that is, until he came busting through the door that seperated their room from Jimmy's-"

Dottie, who had been listening intently to every word that came out of Shirley's mouth, interrupted her, confused. "Wait a minute- there was a door in both of their rooms that seperated one from the other? Isn't that usually only found in Honeymoon rooms?"

Shirley, as though aware once more of Dottie, looked nervous as she spoke again. "You'd think so, but the place we were in last night has a couple of rooms like that that are connected through a door. A little weird. But anyway, these three girls are all asleep in the two double beds, when sometime 'round one in the morning, they just hear this loud bang- that was the door seperating their room from the room the two men shared- and at the foot of the beds, there was Jimmy."

Dottie could hardly believe what she was hearing. She knew that the man was an inconsiderate, idiotic drunk, but to bust into a bedroom occupied by women in the wee hours of the morning...

"...He was drunk, the girls told me, and he looked as though he was just barely aware of where he was. But that's not all of it." Shirley's eyes were bright- the way anyone's eyes gleamed when they had a piece of information that they were immensly proud of procuring. "He was naked."

Dottie hadn't cared much about making more of a scene in the restaurant than what Shirley had already accomplished. After she heard about what Jimmy had done, however, anger took over her, and, nearly shoving past the aged waitress who had just arrived at their table to take their order, Dottie walked- stomped- over to the table where not just Jimmy Dugan, but Lou the bus driver and Miss Cuthbert sat at. they all looked as though they were waiting for whatever it was that they had ordered when Dottie came stomping up to the table.

Unsurprisingly, it was Cuthbert who greeted her. "May I help you-"

"No, I want to talk to Jimmy." she turned her gaze away from Miss Cuthbert and to the man in question. "What in the hell is the matter with you- piss drunk most of the time, then I find out that you break into one of the rooms where some of the players were sleeping- naked?!"

Miss Cuthbert was horrorfied. "Mister... mister Dugan, is what she says true?!"

Jimmy himself looked as though he was surprised. Even after learning about what he had done, Dottie could not begrudge him for looking as though he could not find the words that he needed to speak: Everybody in the dining room- and even a few of the restaurant workers, who leaned out of the kitchen to eavsdrop- were totally focused on what it was that Jimmy was going to say. Dottie, who had only seen him turn deep red when he had been drunk, saw him blush.

"I, I got confused last night," he explained. It was the first time that Dottie had ever heard him speak in anything but a drunken near-mumble. "and I forgot that I wasn't home. I'm really sorry."

Dottie didn't know what to think. She had believed before that he had come into the girls' room for a purpose that was less than pure- but he sounded as though he was not lying when he told her that he was just confused. Dottie could believe that: he had been so drunk the night before, he could barely navigate the hallway by himself.

Almost regretfully, Dottie turned to look back down at Jimmy. He looked as though he was intent with reading the two jars of jam on his table. His face was still reddened in what was most likely embarrasement. Could she blame him?- everybody in the dining room was staring at him. "I guess you just made a mistake. Don't do that again, though- some of these women are married."

Jimmy nodded stiffly, but never rose his eyes to her face. --

They had been riding in the back of the bus all day. With the exception of the stop they had for lunch at a roadside diner (they weren't even allowed to step outside, since it was technically a truck stop, Miss Cuthbert had insisted that it would be unseemly for the players to be seen in a place where large and hairy men ate their meals. They all had to get their meals taken out to the bus, to the chagrin of more than one woman player who wanted to stretch her legs) the day was a nonstop scene of rolling landscape and trees on the bus. Miss Cuthbert had also gotten a great night of sleep the night before, so she was at her best and without any naps whatsoever. It was the single most excrutiating ride imaginable for nearly all of the women- with the exception of the girls who had been woken up by the nude Jimmy Dugan the night before and who had spent much of the night trying to sleep. All three reached three in the afternoon asleep in the middle of the bus- two of which were resting against each other.

The worst of it for most of them was not that the ride was boring just by itself, but that they did not have a game to look forward to for the day- or the day after that, for that matter. After their failure the day before, many were anxious to attempt to prove themselves with a win. The near painful memory of their loss was only made worse with nothing to do for the day except stare out the window, play thumb wrestling type games, or tell stories.

The only hope for everyone, including Dottie, even though she never admitted it, was that they would be put in a place where they could practice ball for at least a while before they would have to bed down for the night. When they arrived at the bed and breakfast in a small town, they would find that at last half of their wish was going to come true.

When they arrived, they had what would have been more than enough time to play around somewhere for a good while before they would be taken out to the nearest restaurant that Miss Cuthbert would approve of. Unfortunately, the bed and breakfast had no good place for them to play outside. Most of the women resigned themselves to going into one of the women's rooms and playing a very secretive game of poker, but a few of the players- Mae and Ellen being the ringleaders, for the most part- were practicing in a hallway where they did not believe that anyone would bother them. The idea worked, until the Inn keeper came across them throwing pitches to each other five minutes before dinner was served.

Dottie and many of the women had gone to bed early- many with a nasty headache from the day of road travel. But as for Kit, she stayed up with the roommates in the room she had decided to sleep in after Dottie had insisted on Kit not turning the old lantern in their room on. The other three girls who had decided to share the room- and its four aging single beds- were the other three women who had taken naps on the bus and who couldn't go to sleep just yet.

Even though they had all settled into talking, and Kit was talking with the three women who had been woken up by their naked coach, the topic did not come up until much later in their conversation.

Betty Horn had been looking at Kit, an odd expression on her face. Something had been bothering her, and the more time she spent talking to Kit Keller, the more it felt like the elephant in the room.

"Say, Kit, what is it you heard about what happened to us last night?"

Kit looked a bit confused at first. Why would she have brought it up then? "Of course I heard about it. Everybody on the team's heard about..." she paused, not sure how to put it. "...that."

Betty looked over at Molly, who was sitting on the bed next to her. It was a look that seemed to suggest that they knew something that Kit did not. It was Molly, one of the tallest women on the team, who spoke up.

"What did you hear about what happened last night?"

Something in the way the soft-voiced woman said what she did spoke volumns to Kit. Kit had been smiling before, but at the sound of Molly's voice, it distentigrated. "Is there something that I should know about?"

"Just tell us what you heard about last night." Molly insisted. --

It was two days later that they were finally in the town of Kenosha and on the way to their second game. They had been put up in what had been actually a pretty good hotel for the night near the town. For the first time since they had been in the Chicago motel, they had all been able to bathe- and they all had to only share their room with one other woman. On the way to the stadium, all of the women- Mae included- scrunched up to the front of the bus with the coach and Miss Cuthbert. Normally, none of the players would have wanted to sit around Miss Cuthbert and Jimmy Dugan so casually- both had their reasons for why the players disliked being around them- but all of the women were anxious about getting off of the bus as soon as it rolled to a stop. Excitement was real and electric on the bus for everyone as they rolled along the road.

Or, at least, mostly everyone.

The only person not excited was asleep against one of the windows, snoring. Nobody was surprised that he was asleep after the all-nighter he spent at one of the locals pubs. It was Dottie herself who had happened to look out her room's window the night before after finishing the letters she had composed for the night, and saw the man going down the sidewalk outside of her window, walking with the familiar jerked gait that belonged to Jimmy Dugan. As soon as she had seen him, Dottie turned to look over at the room's clock. It had been just after one in the morning at the time.

Dottie had been staring at Jimmy from where she sat behind him, out of nothing if not wondering how he would navigate getting to their dugout without any of their help. She certainly was not going to help him after what he had done three nights ago.

But, what Dottie did not know was that her sister, Kit, who had been very quiet around her for the last day and a half, had been watching her as she looked at Jimmy. It was worry and disbelief that stained her pixie-like features. --


End file.
